Series 6 Oneshots
by Graveygraves
Summary: I am trying to do a one-shot for each episode of Series 6. Something/one in each episode will prompt the one-shot. All characters to be included at some point, depending on the prompt from the episode. This is unbeta'd, please R&R.
1. The Longest Night

**Series Six One-shots: The Longest Night**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**Prompt: **

**Morgan:** Hey.  
><strong>Garcia:<strong> Hey back.  
><strong>Morgan:<strong> Baby girl I'm sorry for taking your head off.  
><strong>Garcia: <strong>Oh darling, our love is a rock. No bad day can come between us.  
><strong>Morgan:<strong> Word.  
><strong>Garcia:<strong> Come home safe. I'll leave a light on.

. . . . . . . .

Trudging back into the bullpen Derek wanted nothing more than to turn around and walk away.

Walk away from everything. How much longer could he take this? It was times like this he wondered if it was all worth it. Yes they stopped Billy Flynn, but at what cost?

None of the team were hanging around long; they didn't need to be in the next day, as they were so late back and everyone was shattered. Each grabbed what they came in for, dropped off what they didn't want. Derek headed towards his office, head down.

"You think he'll be OK?" Reid asked Prentiss, watching Morgan take the steps towards his office two at a time.

She shrugged. "Not tonight, but soon," she answered.

Reid looked confused.

"Morgan will work it out his way; we all have our ways to cope."

Prentiss scooped up her bags and left. Reid decided to hover, just in case.

. . . . . . . .

Finally looking up, as he neared the office, Derek noticed his desk lamp shining through the slats of his blind. _Great_, leaving that on all this time will probably have earned him an environmental memo from Strauss, another mark in her bad books, as if he needed anymore.

Dropping his bags as he opened the door, Derek slid into his desk chair, head in hands. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, but knew he wouldn't sleep, not tonight anyway.

Dragging his hands down his face and rubbing his eyes, he noticed the pink, heart shaped post-it note stuck to his lamp. He read it.

'Told you I'd leave a light on! See you soon Sugar x.'

He let a small smile creep across his lips. That girl really was something else. No matter what, or where, she could reach out and drag him back. Glancing at his watch, he realised the time, it was the early hours of the morning already; he couldn't call her now, could he?

Switching the light off, Derek got up and left. He didn't even register Reid standing at his desk, watching him go.

. . . . . . . .

Sitting outside, in his dark SUV, Derek glanced up at Penelope's apartment window. He should go home and try and get a couple of hours sleep. Then he could come back and see her at an appropriate time.

He jumped involuntarily, as his phone rung.

"Are you coming up, or sitting there until the sun finally rises?"

That same half grin appeared; _how did she do it? _Looking back up at the window, he saw her.

"How'd you know I was here?" He asked.

"I am the All-Knowing Goddess of the BAU. Now get your butt up here."

With which the phone went dead, leaving Derek no choice but to make his way up.

. . . . . . . .

Derek hated to see the look of concern on her face as he entered her apartment.

"Oh Baby Boy, does it hurt much? It looks like it does. Shouldn't you be lying down or something?"

"Give it up woman, I'm fine," though, he had to secretly admit to liking her fussing.

The problem with the attention was it made him realise just how much he hurt. Not just the cut above his left eye; that Garcia was referring to, but every muscle seemed to burn from excessive tension. To honest he had forgotten what a battering he had taken just over forty-eight hours previously. At least now he had a reasonable explanation for the constant pounding in his skull.

Garcia made her way over to the couch, giving Derek a tug to follow, which he didn't resist. As Penelope settled herself in the corner, Derek sat next to her, eventually leaning back against her as she wrapped her arms around him. He let himself enjoy the warm of her against him.

He knew people didn't understand their relationship. That there was constant speculation about whether they ever would or wouldn't 'get it together'. But his Baby Girl was so much more than that to him.

She was the one that never judged him. He didn't have anything to prove to her. She loved him for what he was, Derek Morgan, and he loved her in return. That was why it never matter what was said or done between them, they knew they had each other. Together they could get through anything.

"So Cupcake, talk to me," she finally prompted, squeezing him a little tighter.

"Why'd we do it?"

"Do what, Honey?"

"Why do we chase around the country, tackling one UnSub after another, only to know that tomorrow there will be another pile of possible cases."

"You do it because you are a good person, and the good guy always wins in the end, Sweetie."

"But he doesn't, Spicer lost, my Dad lost. Now another kid is out their without anyone. At least I had my Mom and sisters, but Ellie has no-one!" As he spoke he could feel the anger rising again.

"I'm more than willing to help track her Mom. I can do things that other services may not be able to do, if you don't tell anyone," not that Penelope thought he would tell anyone.

"Then what? We palm her off on a mother that didn't want her," he added bitterly.

"Wow Tiger, we don't know that. Don't judge her before you have met her. We don't know the circumstances behind their separation."

Derek knew she was right. He was channelling his anger onto an unknown person; anything to try and rid himself of it.

"I know what she is going through. Seeing your father murdered," he breathed deeply, trying to contain his emotions, "Baby, you know too, I know you were older, but losing your parents, having no-one. Ellie's just a kid!"

Penelope said nothing, just hugged him closer, as if she could absorb all the hurt in him. HIs words had cut her, but only because they were true. She hadn't met Ellie, but was more than aware what the girl was facing.

"Every time I close my eyes I can see her crying. She was so strong through it all, barely a tear, but all I can think is that somewhere in the dark, on her own, now, she's letting it out. Who's going to help her through this? Who's going to be there for her?"

Penelope watched as he snuggled in closer to her, needing her as much as she has needed him in the past. She hated seeing Derek so vulnerable, but was honoured that he trusted her enough to let her in.

"When my Dad was shot," he gulped, the image as clear in his mind as if it had happened only yesterday, "I had to be strong, for Mom; of course she never said that. But I remember, she only cried twice in front of us. When she hugged me straight after it happened and after the funeral. She wanted to be strong for us. She talked about Dad and encouraged us to talk about him. But not him dying, not what I'd seen. It was keeping that pent up that caused me to do the things I did."

Penelope listened, letting him talk himself through it all.

"Not that that's an excuse, but when you feel no-one is listening, you do stupid things to get attention. I don't want Ellie to take that route, because once she does, she becomes even more vulnerable."

Pen knew what he was referring to. Derek had told her about his past, about what had happened to him. Slipping down the couch, Penelope lay facing him.

"Sweetness, you have done everything you can right now. I will help you help Ellie, in any way we can, but you need rest and this Goddess needs her beauty sleep. So close those amazing dark brown eyes. You have already given Ellie one thing you have never had."

"What's that?" he asked, suddenly feeling sleepy.

"Closure."

Turning round, Penelope snuggled back against Derek. Spooning each other on the couch, Derek breaths begun to steady, Penelope could tell he was starting to relax. His arms were still tight round her, a feeling she enjoyed. Pen knew she couldn't physically protect Derek from the dark world they co-habited, but she could protect him emotionally, especially from himself. He was his own worse judge, so self-critical. She shut her eyes, knowing her job was done, for now.

Derek's mind started to clear, Penelope was truly his solace, and without her he would have been lost a long time ago. There were few people in this world he could name that he trusted one-hundred percent, but Penelope was top of that list, she knew things about him even his Mom didn't. Pulling her as close as he could, he could feel himself drifty safely off to sleep.

. . . . . . . .

"A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."

**Anon**


	2. JJ

**Series 6 One-shots: JJ**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Prompt:**

**JJ:** I'm thankful for my years spent with this family, for everything we shared, every chance we had to grow. I'll take the best of them with me and lead by their example wherever I go. A friend told me to be honest with you, so here it goes. This isn't what I want, but I'll take the high road. Maybe it's because I look at everything as a lesson; or because I don't want to walk around angry; or maybe it's because I finally understand. There are things we don't want to happen, but have to accept. Things we don't want to know; but have to learn. And people we can't live without; but have to let go.

. . . . . . . . . .

JJ took a seat at the conference table. The very table she had sat at more times then she cared to recount, but now didn't want to let go of it. The horrors she had seen at that very table, each time she had thought it couldn't get any worse, it had.

Looking down at the crisp white questionnaire in front of her she breathed deeply, desperately wishing it was another set of horrendous case notes she was facing. Anything but this; somehow putting pen to paper made it all so final.

Hotch had just told her she was to leave at the end of the week, she had barely forty-eight hours to finish up and walk away. Leaving behind her everything that had mattered to her for most of her adult life.

She sighed as she scanned the questions, answering the easy ones. Those relating to pay and benefits, had she suffered from discrimination, harassment, what were the working conditions like?

Looking up, as she flicked back to the beginning, she saw the majority of the team hanging around the bullpen. Everyone else had left. Hotch and Garcia were in their respective offices, but everyone else sat there, waiting. They looked like a family in a hospital waiting room, waiting for the doctors to arrive with his prognosis. However she was to be the one to deliver the fatal news to her family.

Not aware of how long she watched them; as they tried to make general chit-chat, tidy, finish off paperwork. She should go and speak to them, release them, but she took comfort in their presence. Beside she was so determined she would not cry, not yet. If she still had to face them, she still had to hold it together.

Turning back to the questionnaire she begun on the questions she was finding harder to answer:

**What is your primary reason for leaving?**

They had got to be kidding, right? - Raising an eyebrow she wrote confidently, well Hotch told her to be honest:

_I have no reason to leave; this transfer was forced upon me._

**Did anything trigger your decision to leave?**

_See above – Senior Management found out I have previously turned down the same opportunity._

**What was most satisfying about your job?**

_Being able to give families good news has always been the most satisfying aspect. As a liaison officer I regularly had the responsibility of working closely with the families, gaining their trust, being welcomed into their home. They trusted me – it was always good to give something back._

JJ's mind flitted back to the Maryland case they had just returned from, how she had left the Joyce family, reunited in hospital, moments like that were rare, but worth every second.

**What was the least satisfying aspect of your job?**

JJ paused. How did you put into words what the team dealt with day in and day out?

_I have always found it hard to deal with disappointment and failure. It has always been difficult when cases haven't concluded as we would have hoped._

**What would you change about your job?**

_Humanly there is nothing I could change. If it was possible to deal with more cases and have a success in each I obviously would, but that's not possible._

**Did your job duties turn out to be as expected?**

JJ paused again – what had she expected? She wasn't a profiler, but that didn't stop the team respecting her input. Dealing with the number of cases that came in day in and day out and deciding which Hotch saw – that was more of a responsibility than she had imagined.

_No. I have been given so many more opportunities to develop, personally and professional, in my time with the BAU. The responsibility I have had has been more than I imagined initially, however with the support of my colleagues I have learnt how to deal with it._

**Did you receive adequate support to do your job?**

_The team that I have worked with are incredibly supportive. We all look out for each other and we all know that there is someone we can turn to. The hardest part of our job is emotional stress. It is easy for outsiders to misunderstand the impact of this on everyone, but the reason we seem to cope so well is we have each other. Like a family._

JJ was aware that the last comment would be frowned upon (especially by Strauss) but who cared.

**Did you receive sufficient feedback about your performance between reviews?**

_Yes._

She would not put anything in this that could be used against Hotch and the team. Besides Hotch let her know when she had done well; they all knew when they had done well. They didn't need Hotch to sit there and waste pleasantries on them, though more praise would have been nice from time to time.

**Do you have any tips to help us find a replacement?**

Yes, make sure they are thick skinned – they'll need it for the media, for the families and for the team. Well they aren't good with new comers; you only had to ask Emily and Rossi how rough it was when they started.

Resisting the urge to write such an honest answer, she put:

_Anyone that wishes to be a liaison officer in the FBI needs to be extremely resilient and resourceful. Though it is not essential for a replacement to be a profiler, some experience or interest would be useful._

**What could your immediate supervisor do to improve his or her management style?**

Again JJ resisted the first thought that came to mind – not tie his tie so tight and remove the stick from up his arse. As she knew Hotch wasn't as uptight as he liked to appear, he did have a reasonable sense of humour under there.

_Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner is a true professional, who I have a lot of respect for. He has high expectations of all who work for him and is appreciative of the effort it takes to meet his expectations. He doesn't take his team for granted and is proud of them. I see little that he can do improve._

**Based on your experience with the BAU, what do you think it takes to succeed?**

_Working on the assumption that it is considered that I have succeeded, then I would say that the ability to trust is important, also being able to compartmentalise what, and who, we have to deal with. _

JJ wanted to add that if you wished to reach the levels that Strauss had, then you needed to be a selfish bitch with no thought for anyone else – but decided against it.

**What obstacles made your job more difficult?**

_Budget restraints._

**Would you consider working for the BAU again in the future?**

_Yes, without a doubt._

**What did you like most about your time in the BAU?**

JJ glanced back down at the team, all still waiting. She smiled.

Dr Spencer Reid, so sweet and such a good friend and now Godfather to her child. She recalled the interest he had taken in her pregnancy, the constant reel of facts he had always amazed her. She was so glad that he had got over his initial crush on her; it could have really damaged their friendship. There was so much she would miss about him, but at least Henry gave him a good reason to see her regularly. She knew he wouldn't understand her leaving and that nothing she said would make it any easier.

David Rossi, he liked to think of himself as a father figure, more like the rouge uncle. That glint in his eye that let everyone knew he wasn't following procedure to the letter. He liked to bend the rules to get the result. People came first with Rossi. When he had returned to the BAU she had silently wondered what had made him do it, made him face it all again. But facing her own departure, she knew she'd be back in the blink of an eye, given the chance. It's possible to deal with the cases because of the people you share it with. Rossi would be practical about her leaving, swallow the pill and move on; storing it up with everything else he was burdened with.

Derek Morgan, the team's self appointed protector, he wouldn't take this laying down. Anything he perceived as an attack on the team was personal to him, and he would jump to their defence. Everyone knew he was the one with trust issues, yet every member of the team had earned his trust, herself included, and knowing that was worth more than any physical possession.

Emily Prentiss, she came across as so self assured, but under that cool exterior she was constantly out to prove herself. She was so worried by people perception of her. God, JJ had thought she was competitive until she met Emily. Luckily they had decided early on collaboration would be better then competition, it had made them quite a force to be reckoned with. It might take Emily a while, but JJ knew Emily would accept her news and help Reid and Garcia through it.

In addition to the four she could see, there was Hotch, strong and silent, but constantly there. She knew that admitting he would miss her was probably one of the hardest things he'd done in a long time, the awkwardness of his handshake after had cemented his embarrassment. JJ had wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him it would all be OK. She knew he relied on the team as much as they relied on him. He'd lost Haley; he couldn't lose his team as well.

Lastly Garcia, Henry's Godmother and her best friend, the laughs and tears they had shared over the years. Morgan hadn't got dibs on her as a solace; she was the whole team's solace; special to each and every one of them. Able to conjure a smile out of the darkest of places, when she was down, they all were. She always knew the right thing to say at the right time. JJ knew leaving would hurt her deeply, she knew she would grieve, losing a member of her family. But she would put on a brave face and rally the others.

Returning to the form in front of her, she wrote:

_I have never worked with a better group of people. My team in the BAU are professional, supportive and above all a pleasure to work with. Over the years they have become more than my colleagues, they are like my family. They mean so much to me and I will miss every one of them. In a job like this it is impossible not to form close friendships, few outsiders understand what we deal with. _

**What do you like least about your time in the BAU?**

_The horrific details of the cases that we have to deal with are the worse aspect of the job._

**Any other comments:**

_I'm thankful for my years spent with this family, for everything we shared, every chance we had to grow. I'll take the best of them with me and lead by their example wherever I go. A friend told me to be honest with you, so here it goes. This isn't what I want, but I'll take the high road. Maybe it's because I look at everything as a lesson; or because I don't want to walk around angry; or maybe it's because I finally understand. There are things we don't want to happen, but have to accept. Things we don't want to know; but have to learn. And people we can't live without; but have to let go._

Slowly JJ rose from her chair, clutching the questionnaire, she made her way down to her team, still unsure what she was supposed to say to them. As they turned to face her, she knew that she didn't need to say anything, they knew.

. . . . . . . . . .

Families are like quilts, pieced with memories, bound with love.

**Anon**


	3. Remembrance of Things Past

**Remembrance of Things Past**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**Prompt:**

**Lee Mullens (The Butcher):** Hey Rossi! I do remember you. In the end you're the reason I stopped.

. . . . .

Sitting back in front of his laptop screen, Rossi realised he was no further forward than he had been a week ago. The screen was blank and staying that way. It wasn't writer's block stopping him this time. This time his mind was so full, there wasn't the space he needed to further his writing.

Getting up from his desk, for another distraction, he went to pour a large malt whiskey. Upon returning, he passed the brown cardboard box that he hadn't returned to its place of hiding yet. Sitting in a large leather chair, next to the coffee table the box currently called home, he lifted the lid.

Looking at the contents, he knew he didn't have time to delve into its depths again. He should have left the box back at the BAU, having it out of his house may have finished his obsession with it, going cold turkey, as he restarted his vacation.

He leant back, staring at the box that he had told Morgan contained 'evil'. Somehow that 'evil' seemed less scary now. It didn't have the power over him it once had. He had beaten it, now it was _his_ trophy. He shuddered as he remembered; remembering the words that the monster that created the contents of the box, had recently said: "I like trophies, prove you won something."

_Is that what the box had now become to him?_ Rossi wondered. _Was he any better than 'The Butcher'?_ Keeping a trophy of the battle he'd won.

Sighing he placed the lid back onto the box and rose to return to his desk. However he couldn't take the steps he needed to return to his work, he couldn't move away form it's lure. Soon he sat back down, sipping the burning liquor that the glass contained. He sat watching the box, half expecting it to do something, anything. Even if it was open up and fully consume him; because mentally it already had, so it may as well take him physically too.

The problem was he couldn't get 'The Butcher's' final words to him out of his head. Everyone had been so pleased that 'The Butcher' had finally been caught. However it bothered David, it wasn't the grand capturing of an active beast. Rather the hunting down of an old deer, one that was already near dead and unable to take flight at the hint of danger. Dave was a hunter; he knew the pride of a good catch, and the bitter taste of a bad one. Right now he was trying to rid his mouth of that bitter taste.

Closing his eyes, Dave pictured the frail man they had busted. _There by the grace of God go us all,_ he had thought several times over. He knew what the symptoms of Alzheimer's. The impact dementia had on a person, watching as you lost that person, a little bit at a time, until there was nothing but a shell that resembled the person you loved. He knew the length you would go to, to help them remember, to keep their mind alive. _But murder, to murder for them, with them, who would go that far?_

Staring intently at his own Pandora's Box, he knew he still didn't have closure.

Dave opened the box, taking out the file of Karen Bachner. Opening up the report he had filed when he had interviewed Lee Mullen, her husband, 'The Butcher'. _Why had he not seen it at the time?_ She was victim number eight, he could have saved twelve more victims then, let alone the addition victims that Mullens had created with his son's help. He would struggle to forgive himself for letting so many people down. He had long learnt that time doesn't heal; it just numbs the pain until you become less aware.

Dave studied the pictures, ones he had memorised many years ago. Karen, as with all of his victims was attractive. As far as he knew all she had ever done wrong was met and marry the wrong man. Dave unclipped the photograph that Mullen had provided, the one that showed the mother of his child, prior to her torture and subsequent death. _What had been her finial words to her son?_ All bar Karen and victim number one had their last words recorded, just not Karen and Sylvia.

He tried to imagine that last shared time with Colby and his mother. How frightened the ten year old must be to have completely wiped it from his memory. The plain terror. As if watching such a brutal murder wasn't horrific enough, watching your own mother's horrific murder, then that must have been a torture of its own.

_Had that been an extra kick for Mullen?_ After all he got his victims to call home, so that he could get that additional sadist kick of extra people suffering. David had to assume that it hadn't given Mullen the thrill he had imagined, _or wouldn't he have tried to marry again?_

Maybe Colby was naturally as sadistic as his father. Rossi doubted that, having seen him in action. Torturing those women didn't come naturally. It was a stereotypical dominant/submissive father and son partnership. Colby did everything he could to follow his father's wishes, to recreate that final kill. All to preserve his memory, to keep the man he relied on. Even if he had grown to detest that man, to dread the request, he couldn't lose him.

Dave clipped the photo back in place, tracing the outline of Karen's face. He'd let her down more than anyone. He'd let Lee Mullen shape his son, so that once he could no longer murder his son would. He'd let Mullen control their son, the son that carried his mother's name, not his father. She had been suspicious enough when she had married him not to change the boy's name, to try and protect him.

Yet still, above all it puzzled Rossi more, what had he done nearly twenty years ago that made him stop. It couldn't be anything in the interview as 'The Butcher' had gone on to murder twelve more after that. Yet 'The Butcher' had specifically said he had stop because of him, Rossi. _Was it just because he had got too close? Was it as simple as that? Or was he beginning to forget what he had done?_

Throwing the file into the box and slamming the lid down, Dave made his way to the computer. Sitting down with new determination he opened a new file. Typing furiously, recording it all. After all, who would be there to help him recreate his memories, should the time come?

. . . . . .

"I've never tried to block out the memories of the past, even though some are painful. I don't understand people who hide from their past. Everything you live through helps to make you the person you are now."

**Sophia Loren**

**I have a confession I love Rossi' character but really struggle to write much for him. I obviously put him in my team fic (mainly for black humour/sarcastic overtones). I have also done him having conversations with others - loves the way he draws information out of people. So please let me know what you think - reviews are always appreciated.**

**On a personal note - thanks to those who have reviewed, alerted or favourited. It really encourages me.  
><strong>


	4. Compromising Positions

**Series 6 One-shots: Compromising Positions**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**Prompt: **

**Garcia: **I'm not trying to replace her. I'm trying to do this job the way she'd want it to be done.

**Morgan: **You know what JJ would want? She'd want you to find a way for you to do this job on your terms. Play to your strengths.

**Garcia:** OK, so my extensive knowledge of operating systems and internet protocol is not really going to help me out here!

**Morgan:** That's not what I am talking about.

**Garcia: **What are you talking about?

**Morgan:** You need to go OG – Original Garcia

. . . . . . . . . .

Garcia flung her bag down on her coffee table and headed straight to the kitchen. Pouring a large glass of wine she smiled, she deserved this one. It had been a tough case, but more so than usual for Pen. She got back to the couch and flopped down, kicking off her orange stilettos. She pumped up the volume on her stereo and sang along, at the top of her voice. Stress relief OG way!

After she finished the first glass of wine she made her way through to her bedroom. Stripping off as she went. After a quick shower she threw on her PJs and padded back through to the lounge. Make up gone, hair all braided and glasses firmly on – one-hundred percent Garcia. Nothing to hide behind.

Setting up her projector and pouring another glass of wine, she settled to watch the images from her childhood. Smiling as tears silently plopped down her check. Seeing her Mom she giggled, she always felt a little silly doing this, but it always helped when she had something to talk through. Seeing her Mom made her feel connected, like she was there to talk to.

"Mom, you wouldn't believe what I got myself into this time," she paused, even though she knew she wouldn't answer, "I decided I could do JJ's job, as well as mine. I know, I know Mom, but the theory sounded so good. I created the programme JJ used. My role and hers overlapped so much as I liaised with her when the team needed things. It seemed to make sense. Hotch was worried that I wasn't fully trained but I've always been willing to learn new skills, all I needed to do was tone down my wardrobe choices, a bit. Not change myself, just my image."

Garcia smirked remembering the team's faces as she got onto the plane. Her smart dark dress and those blasted contact lenses.

"I got off to a good start Mom; I sorted all the pre-prep really well. I sent through information about the team to help the lead investigator and made sure he had a list of the equipment the team needed. I was so proud, so sure I could do it and make the team proud of me."

Penelope let out a little sigh, silently watching the images on the screen, imagining her Mom's words of praise and encouragement.

"Then I made my first mistake, I thought I was doing so well trying to deal with the media, when I couldn't find Hotch. I was absolutely insistent that I was making 'No comment', and then just as Hotch walked out he was lying to me. Mom I didn't see his lie, Hotch did. He saw right through him. _Am I so naive? _I felt such a fool for being so trusting. With all that we see you would have thought I would have learnt to be more suspicious of people actions."

Penelope watched the familiar scenes unfold in front of her, taking comfort from them. Leaning back she closed her eyes. Her shoulders were still so tense from the stress of doing to jobs. She knew she should ring Kevin and apologise for snapping at him when he tried to help her. But right now she needed her space. That was why she hadn't gone out with the team either.

Massaging her temples, she began to realise how much she ached all over. She couldn't believe how easily distracted she had been in a field. She had got so lost under all that she was trying to do. To be fair to Hotch he had tried to warn her. Also he had tried to help her prioritise, but each time he had tried to help her she had felt another kick to her self esteem. She knew he didn't mean it, but it hurt. She knew she shouldn't take it personally but she couldn't help it.

She had to admit that Derek, her Chocolate Adonis, had done an amazing job of picking her back up. She smiled, remembering her friends support. He knew what to say at just the right time, every time. He may call her his solace, but right then he had been hers, without a doubt. OG – Original Garcia - trust him to see the light shining through.

It had worked. She had put the pieces together, found the lead they needed and ever got a well done from Hotch.

"Did you hear that Mom? A well done from Hotch," see beamed, "He even came to see me, before I came home, I think he was worried because I was heading home and not going out. He told me how he had struggled when Gideon had left. How he had tried to take on too much. I felt such a failure, like I let the team down, but he assured me he that I hadn't. He assured me that he appreciated me just the way I am."

Penelope was plunged into darkness, as the film ended.

"Unique, Mom, that's what he said I was, and that he didn't want me to change. Your words Mom, he used your words. I'm still living life as you wished I would, uniquely, my way."

Sitting in the dark Penelope enjoyed the silence. She relished her own company. She liked being with herself and her thoughts. She was no longer stressed or upset. She no longer felt she had let the team down. She was Penelope Garcia, one in a million.

. . . . . . . . . .

Cause you're amazing  
>Just the way you are<p>

**Bruno Mars Just The Way You Are lyrics**

**. . . . .**

**I had two ideas for this episode. The other one was originally going to be a separate one-shot Morgan/Prentiss (not a usual pairing for me) M-rated. Didn't feel it fitted in with this series. Which I now glad I didn't include it as a chapter as it has grown into a little bit of a smutty story called Surprises. If this interests you please feel free to read it and let me know what you think.**

**Thank you for the reviews, favourites and alerts, it is all very encouraging and keeps me writing.**


	5. Safe Haven

**Series 6 One-shots – Safe Haven**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Prompt-**

**Ellie:** She wrote to me every day, who cares?

**Morgan**: Hey, this book means that your Mom never stopped thinking about you Ellie. You know that I lost my father the same way that you did, and it's really hard growing up without your Dad. I miss my Dad every day, but my Mom, she means everything to me. I gave your Dad my word I would keep you safe Ellie. Right now you have a chance to have a really good life with your Mom. Just give it a try.

. . . .

Derek was beginning to feel the weight lifting from his shoulders, but it still wouldn't be fully gone for a while, if ever. Derek was a man who kept his promises. He wasn't going to just palm her off, even if it was her mother. He'd be checking, keeping contact.

Derek and Ellie may not have known each other for long, but their bond was instant. They had shared too much, and had too much in common. Unfortunately those things were not good. They were dark and beyond most people's imagination.

Most nine year olds had happy memories of the last time they saw their Dad. For many that moment was that morning over breakfast, or even bedtime this evening. However for Derek and Ellie their experience was far too similar. Both had seen their father shot.

Dropping his 'go bag' on the floor of his hall, Derek ruffled Clooney's ears, as he made his way towards the fridge. Grabbing a bottle of beer, he headed up to his bedroom.

It had been a long time, _too long_, the thought, as he retrieved the dark blue box from the back of his closet. Taking the short distance to his bed in a stride, or two, Derek sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the photo stuck to the top of the wooden box.

He smiled at the image. The photo was of him as a young boy, barely three; his father had him in a tight hug. They were both laughing. Closing his eyes Derek tried hard to hear that laughter now. Every year that passed memories seemed to lose their edge, their clarity; but not Michael Morgan's laugh. It had been deep and booming and totally contagious. When he laughed the whole room laughed.

Settling back on his bed, Derek took a swig of his beer. Slowly he opened the box. As he did he remembered sitting at the kitchen table with his Mom, choosing the contents. Fran Morgan had been determined that each of her children would have a box full of happy memories of their father. Something they could turn to in dark times and so they smiled at the time they had had, rather than grieve for the time they had lost. As an adult Derek knew it must have been so painful for his Mom, sitting with each of them, but he didn't remember her showing that pain, as she helped each of her babies take steps to coming to terms with losing their Dad.

Derek fingered through the contents, specifically looking for the photographs. He pulled out the one that they all had. Sarah, Desiree and he all had a copy of the same family photograph. It had been taken the summer before he was shot, everyone was smiling. None of them knew what they would be facing in the coming months.

Derek loved their trips to the park together. The day this photo had been taken was no different. Both his Mom and Dad had been determined that they would have quality time together as a family. It had made them extremely close. Even now, hundreds of miles apart, Derek knew he could call at any time of day or night and someone would be there.

Leafing through the other photos, Derek paused as he remembered weekends away together, Birthday parties, Christmases, the first time he rode his bike. He was aware of the tears welling in his eyes.

Putting the photos down beside him, on the bed, he pulled out a piece of lined paper. Even before he had fully unfolded the sheet, Derek felt a tear fall. The contents was a letter he had written to his Dad, the day before his funeral. He had asked Mom to put it in the casket, but she had said he should keep it. That his Dad already knew what it said as he was with him, always.

He got to the last paragraph of the letter and read it to himself:

If you came back for just five minutes, I tell you I was sorry that I let you down. When you needed my help I stood and did nothing. I'm sorry Dad and I love you. I will make you proud.

Fran had told him he had nothing to be sorry for, that he had done the right thing, but at the time Derek felt he'd let his Dad down. Closing his eyes he couldn't help but wonder if his Dad was proud of him and of what he had achieved. He smiled, _would his Dad be nagging him as much as his Mom for grandbabies?_

Derek leant forward, routing through the remaining contents, finding his Dad's badge. This was the only thing that his Mom didn't want him to have. She was afraid that he would follow in his father's footsteps. _Guess she was right to worry. _Alongside it was his father's bravery award. Derek had one of his own, from his time in the Chicago PD. _Maybe he was following his footsteps a little too closely._

As he continued to rummage he moved aside Chicago Bears' tickets, from their first game together, Birthday cards from his Mom and Dad, tickets from a trip to the zoo. Finally he found what he was looking for. Wrapped inside one of his Dad's Bears T-shirts was a bottle of aftershave. His Dad's aftershave. Opening it, Derek inhaled deeply. Instantly he was home again. Instantly his Dad was there again.

His Mom had been right. Michael Morgan was with him, always. He knew a day didn't go by that Derek didn't think about him or miss him. Michael Morgan had been his driving force, his inspiration. If he could be half the man his father had, then he will have done well. He smiled again, _OK Dad, I'll work on the grandbabies._ Well it was the only thing his Dad had achieved, that he hadn't.

. . . . . .

_Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. _

**From the television show **_**The Wonder Years**_

**Sorry these are all turning out a little on the heavy side – but I just love the issues that each episode turns up for the characters. The little hints we are given in the programmes to what is going on for them fascinates me. **

**PS Thank you to CriMiAddict for the suggestion of a name for Morgan's Dad. **


	6. Devil's Night

**Series 6 One-shots: Devil's Night**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Prompt:**

**Morgan: **This is the street.

**Prentiss:** Hotch has gone inside.

**Morgan:** Yeah and he's on his own.

**Reid:** Hotch won't do anything to spin him.

**Morgan**: It's not Kaman I'm worried about.

**Rossi:** It's not his first time at the dance; we've got to trust him on this.

. . . . . . .

"So, how you feeling?" Rossi finally asked, propping his head up on one hand.

He had been sat opposite Hotch since the start of the flight, watching him. He was more than aware of the in house ban on profiling each other. But he was also aware of how each of them ignored it, when necessary.

"Fine," came the curt reply, as Hotch continued to deliberately bury his head in the pile of brown files he had brought with him.

Dave gave a dry smile. Aaron Hotchner, ever the professional, no room for personal feelings or emotions. At least that's what he'd like you to believe.

"Maybe you are now, but I have a feeling Derek Morgan has something he wishes to get off his chest, and the look on his face, you might not be fine when he finishes," Dave said, nodding in the direction of a moody looking Morgan, who sat a short distance behind Hotch, and hadn't taken his eyes off him the whole flight. In fact Dave wished he'd made the effort to count the number of times Morgan had blinked, he bet it was still a single digit.

Hotch vaguely lifted his head and turned to register Morgan's glare.

"What's that about?" he asked.

Rossi shrugged, keeping his head steady on his hand as he glanced round the cabin.

"Really Aaron, you haven't got a clue?"

Aaron's turn to shrug, as he glanced at Rossi, before getting his head back into the files; he hadn't got time to play games with David Rossi. If Morgan had something to say he could either say it or back off and go home. He had enough on his plate; since JJ had left his work had increased tenfold. He hadn't got time for sulking colleagues.

"Well," Dave continued, "shall we start with our favourite action hero missing the action today; he didn't like being told to hold back."

"He's jealous?" Hotch huffed.

"No, more concerned for your safety. Honest Aaron, would you have let him get away with behaving like you did?"

. . . . . . .

Morgan hovered outside Hotch's office. He was pissed off. So much so he had blown the others off, choosing to stay behind, use the gym, and then go home. But it hadn't worked. He hadn't burnt off the anger, he'd only compounded it.

As he paced the narrow walk way, debating whether he should leave or go in, he realised the office door had opened. Approaching the doorway, he looked tentively into his superior's office.

"Are you coming in Agent Morgan?"

He heard his boss' mono-tone voice.

Making his way in Morgan stood in front of the wide desk. His stance was aggressive, feet planted far apart, arms folded and that glare had returned.

"Did you have something to say Agent Morgan? As you can see I am rather busy, and unlike you, I would like to get home tonight." Hotch spoke without stopping what he was doing, like he was barely willing to recognise the presence of his younger colleague.

"Really," Morgan's voice dripped uncharacertistic sarcasm.

Hotch finally looked up from his desk. The same stoic look he always wore. He took in Morgan's posture, more than aware of the temper contained within. He hadn't the energy or inclination to fight.

"Derek," he started, trying to defuse the atmosphere that had formed between them, "I really have no idea how I have wrong you. If you would like to use this opportunity to air you grievance then please do. If not, may I recommend you make the most of the opportunity go home early?"

"What got into you today Hotch?" Morgan bit.

"Sorry?" Hotch wasn't expecting such venom from him, he was hoping he would start to calm.

"You have a young boy who relies on you. You are his hero. He looks up to you. Yet in the last twenty-four hours you took two unnecessary risks," Morgan's head dropped, he knew he should hold his tongue and head home, but he also knew life without his father. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to ward off the headache he could feel forming.

Hotch gave Morgan his full attention, he wasn't going to mention how he shouldn't speak to a superior in such a way. He realised Morgan needed to vent, and that was what he was there for. Part of what you expect when you take a superior role. Hotch just never expected to have one of his most impulsive agents scold him for his actions.

"Twice Hotch, twice. You put your life on the line, twice. Jack has already lost his Mom. He can't afford to lose you too!"

Morgan words cut through him, deep. This was personal, and too close to home for Hotch. He acknowledged the position Morgan was coming from but still . . .

"Have you finished?"

Morgan shrugged, deciding he'd hold until Hotch had had his chance. The look on Hotch's face had finally changed and Derek knew he had crossed the line.

"What I did today was necessary. They were calculated risks. I would not risk leaving Jack an orphan. I understand that due to your personal experiences you have issues with my actions, but . . ."

Morgan saw red, "Personal experiences . . . issues with your actions . . . Hotch, listen to yourself, please. If I had gone in solo once, you would have hauled me over the coals. I'd be here wading through these files with you. Kept behind like some naughty school kid. You went into a burning building to rescue a witness, within hours you were solo with our UnSub. Please Hotch; tell me where am I being unreasonable?"

Hotch had no answer. He sighed deeply. He knew Morgan was right. He had been increadibly lucky today. Never the less he wasn't dicussing it now, he didn't air his laudry in public. Not even in front of close friends.

"Thank you for your concern Agent Morgan," Hotch snapped, putting his head back down in final defiance of the the conversation.

Shaking his head, Morgan left, he knew the conversation was over. Derek wasn't happy with the outcome or the way he had handled it, but he wasn't the type to just walk away without saying his peice.

When he was sure Morgan had gone Hotch put his pen down on the pile of files in front of him. He reached towards the sleek black photo frame on his desk. The image of Jack, Haley and himself smiled at him. Slowly he traced his fingers over his family. Although he didn't like to admit it, Morgan had been right. Jack had lost his mother; he couldn't lose his father too. No matter how much he missed Haley and longed to be with her, he had to be careful. Jack deserved better. his actions had been reckless. When was he going to learn that he cannot continue to put his career in front of his life. He had lost Haley twice due to the job. He had left his young son motherless due to his actions. Maybe it was time to consider the bigger picture. There was more to life then his BAU family, then UnSubs and victims. He had one living, breathing reason to put himself first for a change.

Placing the frame precisely back in its place. Hotch packed up and switched the light off. The files could wait, Jack couldn't.

. . . . . . .

"One night a father overheard his son pray: Dear God, Make me the kind of man my Daddy is. Later that night, the Father prayed, Dear God, Make me the kind of man my son wants me to be."

**Anon**

**Please let me know what you think of these so far. I know its bit odd as it's not a story but didn't want to post each separately.**


	7. Middle Man

**Series 6 One-shots – Middle Man**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas**

**Please read and review – all comments are appreciated.**

**Prompt:**

**Hotch: **There's an answer that a profiler could give you, but you don't need to hear that, and you don't need any criticism from me. All I can say is that in my own life I try and run a very tight ship at work, and then, when I go home, I try and give my son all the love and compassion and understanding that he deserves, and I'm not saying this is your failing, but something made Chris vulnerable.

. . . .

Pulling up in the car park, Aaron cut the engine and turned to face his young son. Jack was beaming and already trying to get himself out of the straps of his seat. Aaron stifled a chuckle at his futile attempts.

"You ready then buddy?"

Jack nodded so hard, Aaron thought his head might drop off. Getting out of the driver's seat he went round to release his over energised son.

Jack's feet had barely touched the ground before he was running full pelt towards the play equipment. Aaron wondered where he got the excessive energy from. He locked up and wandered over to join his boy, who was already half way up the climbing frame.

Standing on the edge of the play area, leading against the brightly coloured railing, he relished the rare late autumn sunshine. The day was crisp and dry, ideal for a day out at the park. Aaron now lived for the weekends. When at work he was one hundred percent focused. No-one could accuse him of slacking.

But each weekend he got at home was now packed to the hilt with time with Jack. Not extravagant gestures, he wasn't going to bring up a spoilt brat who got everything he wanted, just because he felt guilty. No, quality time filled with enjoying the simple things in life: the park, baking cookies, meeting up with friends – and yes, that included his BAU colleagues, who Jack seemed more than willing to accept as part of his extended family.

Watching Jack climb higher, he was jolted back to reality by a familiar voice.

"Sorry we're late," JJ sighed, "Do you know how difficult it is to get out of the house with an over excited two year old?"

"Not really," Aaron answer, a hint of sadness in his voice, "I wasn't too good at being there when Jack was that age. Guess there is a lot a missed, good and bad."

"But you're making amends now," JJ added, bitterly aware of her friends loss. She could sympathise and empathise. She struggled to balance work and family, but at least she had Will to share it all with, Aaron was alone.

JJ placed her squirming toddler down and watched as he head off towards the swings, following dutifully, she glanced over her shoulder at Aaron, who was watching Jack intently.

"You coming?" she asked.

He nodded and pushed himself off the fence.

"Hey Jack," he called, waited for some acknowledgement from his son before he continued; "I'm over at the swings with JJ and Henry, OK?"

Jack nodded eagerly, "OK Dad, I'll be over as soon as I've reached the top."

"That's it, set your sights high," he chuckled, shaking his head at the young boy's determination.

By the time Aaron lazily strolled over to the swings, Henry was safely in and giggling as his mom gently pushed him.

"I swear he gets more like you each time I see him," JJ commented, looking at Jack scrambling to the very pinnacle of the cone shaped frame.

"Not sure that's a good thing," Aaron huffed, remembering Halloween the week previously. Turning to JJ he begun to tell her, "I think you're right though. When we went out trick or treating, do you know what his costume was this year?"

JJ shook her head.

"I don't know, what are six year old boys into now-a-days? Spiderman, Superman, Transformers. You see, now I'm glad Henry hasn't reached the making decisions stage, he wears what I get him, or temper tantrums and refuses," she added with a smile.

Aaron laughed.

"Spiderman was my choice, hence one costume purchased, but no, Jack had created his own. Suit and tie."

JJ looked confused.

Smiling Aaron continued, "He wanted to be a real hero, me! I have my very own Junior G-man."

"Oh," JJ smiled, "cute."

"Cute, but what if . . . ," Aaron paused, "It made me think, that and a case we had this week, got me thinking about his future. How important it is, what I do now. I am influencing him with ever action, reaction, phrase and comment. What if I get it wrong JJ?"

"Whoa, Aaron," JJ took a deep breath, "Do you not think that every parent worries about their child's future. I know it's worse in some ways for us. We see first-hand what happens when it all goes wrong. There is no crystal ball, we can't tell what they are going to do in the future, and we just have to do our best. Be fair, be consistent. Give them the skills they need to be independent individuals, with self-worth. Show them it's important to love, care and be kind. Makes it sound so easy, doesn't it."

Aaron nodded, "But it's not. I love my time with Jack, but it's been so hard this year, learning to switch off and enjoy my time with him. Since losing Haley I have realised how much work I brought home with me, and I think it got worse while we were separated. Jack asks questions about everything. I have to be so careful about everything I bring home now."

"Aaron, it hasn't been a year yet, not quite. You are still adjusting to your new life together, and that will change year in and year out as Jack grows, trust me, no two days are the same, let along two weeks or months. You're doing a great job."

Just then they were interrupted, as Jack came bounding over. Only stopping as he collided into his dad's side.

"JJ, can I take Henry to play in the sand? Please, I'll take good care of him, promise," Jack asked.

"You want to play in the sand, Honey?" JJ asked Henry.

"Yes," he answered, putting his arms up to be lifted out of the swing.

Watching the two head off together, JJ and Aaron made their way to a nearby bench.

"So, what has made you worry about the way you're bringing up Jack?"

"He's use to talk opening about Haley with me, he'd tell me how much he missed her. No matter how hard it has been for me, Haley has never been off limits. But he's clammed up. I noticed this morning he's moved her picture in his room; it has always been beside his bed. Now it's the other side of the room, on his bookcase."

Aaron dropped his head.

"Aaron," JJ put her hand on his briefly, letting him know she was there, "Please don't profile his actions, switch that side of you off and try and react as a parent."

"I don't know if I know how to," Aaron suddenly felt vulnerable, and it made him uncomfortable, may be this hadn't been a good idea, but he knew he needed to talk to someone. JJ was a good friend, but he didn't have to face her day in and day out. She was removed enough from his situation to not be watching him, looking for the cracks to show.

"You do, deep down," she sighed, "Being a profiler just gives you an added edge over the rest of us mere mortals. You've noticed a slight change in his behaviour, great, but don't over analyse it, don't try and interpret it or second guess him. Talk to him. Later this month you will mark to the first anniversary of the death of his mother. It is going to be hard for you both, don't stop talking now, not when you've come this far."

The two sat in silence, watching their children play so happily together. After a while, JJ broke the silence.

"I still think he gets more like you every time I see him."

"Still not sure that's a good thing."

"It is Aaron, trust me, it is."

. . . .

It's not only children who grow. Parents do too. As much as we watch to see what our children do with their lives, they are watching us to see what we do with ours. I can't tell my children to reach for the sun. All I can do is reach for it, myself.

**Joyce Maynard**

**Just a little note to anyone who has been reading these I have gone back to 'Devil's Night' and made a few alterations after Nebula2 kindly pointed out a bit of inconsistency. Hope it has made it better, let me know what you think – it really encourages me to write more (even when I should be doing something else).**


	8. Reflection of Desire

**Series 6 one-shots – Reflection of Desire**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**OK so I am cheating with this and killing two birds with one stone. As well as being the one-shot for Episode 8 this is also my entry for the 'Theme Song' challenge for the CCOAC latest challenge. Therefore this chapter has two prompts.**

**Prompt 1: Penelope Garcia and her theme song 'Spinning Around the Sun' by Martina Sorbara (Thank you Dustytiger – hope you like my use of it)**

**Prompt 2:**

**Garcia: **Ah, what a gentleman.

**Morgan: **Excuse me Missy, but when did you plan on telling me?

**Garcia:** Oh I wasn't gonna tell you. (Pause) We all have our 'things' for ourselves, you know, you have your property, I have the theatre.

. . . .

Returning backstage Penelope went to plop herself in front of the mirror in the dressing room. She was exhausted. The only problem was she couldn't see the mirror due to the large bunch of flowers obscuring the way. No matter how shattered she felt, she couldn't help but smile.

Taking the card from the exotic looking multicoloured blooms, she turned it over and recognised the handwriting straight away.

Goddess,

You are the sun in the centre of our universe, and we are all just spinning around the sun. Don't ever try and hide those rays again. The world would be a dark place without you to brighten our day.

D x

If it was possible, her smile widened. Oh he had such a way with words, and he knew it.

"I mean every word of it," came a dark smooth voice from the corner of the room.

"I am sure I could have you arrested for stalking me or something," Penelope giggled, recognising her colleague and friend, before she saw him.

"I guess I just couldn't wait with the others to tell you how great you were," he said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Derek Morgan, you never have to wait to tell me how great I am, I am more than willing to hear it as often as possible."

"Silly girl, I am going to leave you to do whatever it is you thespian types do and I'll wait in the foyer with the others. Don't keep us waiting too long, will you?"

"Honey, haven't you learnt in all the years you have known me that good things are worth waiting for," she winked.

Shaking his head, he left her alone, going to catch up with the rest of the team.

Carefully moving the flowers aside, Penelope stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She didn't really know why she had kept the play a secret from the team. They all had their 'thing', their way to deal with everything they saw. Though she swore sometimes therapy would be cheaper. It wasn't as if the play was a big deal, it was just her way to vent, to cope. Like Derek knocking down walls, Rossi fishing, or Hotch playing soccer with Jack.

Much to Strauss' disgust the team were a family; they did things together, and not just at work. But for some reason she had kept this from them, her secret.

Even families have secrets; _do any of them know the others as well as they think they do?_ Isn't life just like a play, each character revealing enough of themselves to let the plot continue uninterrupted, while the rest is locked away with a big 'Do not disturb' sign planted firmly on it. That's why they do their own thing, for breathing space, to escape. That's what this was, a way to escape.

It wasn't a harmful secret. Knowing or not knowing wasn't going to hurt anybody. But still she had never told them. She had been lucky that they had never found out before, but then again this was her first time in a starring role, normally she was a minor character.

_Talk about art mimicking life_, she snorted. She had always considered herself a minor part in the BAU team, though since JJ had left her role and responsibilities had increased, and she had to admit to enjoying it.

Her eyes were rapidly pulled back to Derek's words on the cards beside her. If only she could really believe that she was the centre of anyone's universe, let alone the then centre of the BAU universe? They all had their role; Hotch the father figure, Rossi the rogue uncle, Morgan the protective big brother, Reid the babied younger brother, Prentiss the kick ass cousin and Penelope. Well she saw herself as their Fairy Godmother. There to grant their wishes and work her magic. She liked to shine brightly, to liven the day. Penelope officially hated grey. Maybe, just maybe, she could see she was the sunshine on a rainy day.

Starting to remove the heavy stage make-up, smudging away her stage self, Penelope begun to feel vulnerable and exposed. She had shown her friends a side of her they hadn't seen before, that they didn't know existed. _Would it change how they viewed her? Did it really matter?_

Bare faced she stared, here she was, uncovered for anyone to see. She was more than aware she hid daily behind her bright clothes, excessive accessories and exuberant hair. That if that was all taken away they would find a scared girl, waiting for someone to realise she shouldn't be playing in the big boys' playground.

Everyone assumed that she was confident and independent. She protected herself behind throw away comments and silly sayings. She had a definite way of portraying herself. Well she couldn't expect to be FBI and act like a rabbit caught in the car headlights.

After changing into her own clothes, she carefully applied her own make-up, getting ready to face the team again. Giving them the Garcia they knew and somehow loved.

. . . .

Walking into the foyer of the theatre, she could see her friends waiting for her. She gave her infamous grin as she approached.

"Pen that was wonderful," Emily gushed, as she ran to give her friend a hug, "If I can say that about something that involves a serial killer, is that wrong?"

"Maybe it should be you were wonderful," added Hotch, helpfully, "And although I am still sorry for letting everyone know, why you wanted to keep such a performance a secret I don't know. You should be very proud of yourself."

"You'll have your own star on the Walk of Fame soon, Red," Rossi added, leaning forward to give her a kiss on the cheek, and causing her to blush as scarlet as her hair.

"I really think it was an interesting concept, after all revenge is a highly motivating . . ."

"Reid, we analyse enough crimes during the week, please just enjoy," Hotch interceded.

"Oh . . . I . . . I really enjoyed your performance and portrayal of the character," Reid commented, a little uncomfortably after being interrupted.

As for Derek, he gave her a hug, not saying a word. After all he'd already said all he needed to say. If only she'd believe it.

. . . .

"I believe humanity was born from conflict. Maybe that's why in all of us lives a dark side. Some of us embrace it. Some have no choice. The rest of us fight it. And in the end, it's as natural as the air we breathe. Some point, we're forced to face the truth...ourselves."

**Penelope Garcia**

**Sorry this is a little shorter than some. I hope it doesn't jump around too much; it didn't flow as well as I hoped. Let me know what you think.**


	9. Into the Woods

**Series 6 One-shots – Into the Woods**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**Sorry it has been a while but just had major real-life catch up and a couple of other projects that I owed some time too. But here goes, and I will try not to leave it so long before I post again.**

**By the way this one-shot is set when Derek is about 13/14 years old (Thank you Gratiae).**

**Prompt:**

**Morgan: Robert's a tough kid.**

. . . . . .

Derek hovered on the door step. He knew the longer he left it the more trouble he would be in, but right now he couldn't face her.

He couldn't risk being found out, the possibility that his mother could see through the mask he wore. He couldn't stand another argument, seeing how upset she was, knowing he had let her down.

So instead he headed off into the night. He knew he shouldn't and that it would make things worse in the long run. But right now he couldn't handle it all, he wasn't strong enough. He needed to build up the wall around him, if that crumbled, he crumbled.

The cold night air stung, especially the freezing cold tears on his cheeks. He jumped at a sudden sound in the alley he'd just walked by; lost on his own world he knew he was risking his own life. At this time of night you needed to be alert on the streets. _But what was his life worth right now?_ _If he was worthy would God have abandoned him?_ _Had he really been that bad to be suffering before facing judgement?_

Heading for the park, Derek wanted peace and if he was lucky he may ever get an end. A timely end to all the pain, the confusion and the lies he currently endured.

Since his Dad had been murdered, his life had been turned upside down. The initial impact of seeing his father die, gunned down in broad daylight and left bleeding to death in the street, was horrific. Then he had the turmoil of fighting through waves of grief and guilt; as he had watched his mother and sisters try and deal with life after Dad.

Then when he had found someone he could trust. Someone that didn't just see him as the kid whose Dad got shot, or Derek Morgan trouble maker. The one man, who had made a difference, and stopped him from wasting his life away, a single person who took him in and had shown him that the world was out there, waiting for him. That respected leader of the community, was now the person he despised the most in this world.

Derek hung his head in shame as he balled himself up in the corner of the park. Trying to make himself small enough to be invisible. He wanted to disappear, to no longer be a burden on his mother and sisters. He was the man of the house, their protector. _How could he protect them when he couldn't even protect himself?_

Derek had no idea how long he had sat there, the biting cold gnawing away at him, until him was numb to his very bones. Inwardly he debated what he should do. He wanted to run, and not stop, not until he was miles away, away from all that was weighing him down. But he couldn't do that, not to his Mom.

With heavy feet he trudged home, dreading facing his Mom. He had to get through this, somehow.

. . . . . .

Derek didn't get chance to attempt to open the door. No opportunity to sneak upstairs and avoid the inevitable. As his foot hit the step the door had swung open. Even in the shadows he could see the distorted look of anger and concern of his Mom's face.

"Where have you been?" her voice barely audible, "It's nearly midnight, I've been worried sick, Derek."

Derek hung his head again. Not able to meet his mother's eyes for fear of seeing the disappointment that seemed to permanently reside there. Instead his pushed past her into the hall, hoping she'd get the hint and let it drop.

"Oh no you don't, Derek Morgan," the quiet firmness to her voice sent a chill down his spine, as she grabbed his elbow in passing.

"Leave it Mom," he jerked his arm away, regretting the action, but what else could he do, he couldn't tell her.

"This way," she hissed, "I don't want to wake your sisters, again."

Too late Derek thought, taking a quick glance up the stairs, knowing Sarah was sitting in wait up there for him.

Derek stood awkwardly in the lounge, not taking his eyes off his sneakers. Fran Morgan stood by the window, at a loss of how to reach out to her son. She knew he was hurting, they all were. It may have been nearly four years since Michael's death, but that didn't make it any easier; especially not having to live with a walking reminder of him every day.

Fran looked at Derek; he was his father's son, handsome, charming and tenacious. But the last few years had changed him, especially the past month or so. He had become so remote, distancing himself from everyone. He couldn't stand people near him, as if by keeping everyone at a distance he wouldn't hurt again.

In fact the only place he seemed to find any solace was the community centre. Fran was seriously considering moving the contents of his bedroom down there; he may as well sleep there, as he practically lives there.

Sport seemed to be the only thing that focused him. His grades were slipping and teachers were constantly commenting on his lack of concentration in school. In fact this week's phone call had finished in his form tutor saying that 'if it isn't on the field or in a skirt, Derek's not interested'. She had to face the fact he was growing up quick, but girls already, please. He was confused enough without that added complication.

Fran raised her eyes to heaven in a silent prayer for strength, for her and Derek.

She made her way over to her son. He maybe growing fast, but he was still her baby boy, and right now he looked so vulnerable. Gently she placed a hand on his shoulder.

Derek jumped, as if he'd been scorched. Stepping away from his mother, fear shot across his eyes, subsiding once he remembered he was home, safe.

Fran hugged herself. Startled by the way he had recalled from her touch.

"Derek, what's going on? I can't help you if you don't talk to me." Any anger she had held in her had dispersed, she spoke softly in the remote hope that he may open up. However the look on his face let her know his barriers were up high.

"Nothing," he muttered, "Can I go to bed now, I'm tired."

"So am I Derek. I'm tired of this game, of you avoiding me. You use to tell me everything. What have I done wrong?"

"Mom," he whimpered, he knew he was hurting her, but the truth would hurt her more.

"Your teacher's have rung me again."

He rolled his eyes in response to her comment, great, more hassle.

"They think you should see the counsellor again. They are worried that you haven't come to terms with what happened to your Dad. Please, would you consider it?" the pleading in her eyes, wasted as he wasn't looking.

Derek just shook his head. He didn't trust strangers. Hell he didn't trust anyone, anymore. _Look what happened when he did._

Fran wanted to hold him, hug him, and tell him it would all be alright, but she couldn't handle the prospect of him pushing her away again.

"Derek, I'm here, please know that, and if you want to talk, I'll listen. There is nothing you can't tell me, if you're in trouble we can sort it together. No matter what it is? Carl's helped you get straight; the police aren't on our door anymore. This is your chance of a future."

At the mentions of Carl Buford name Derek stiffen. If only his Mom knew what Carl was doing to him, when he took him away fishing, playing Dad. Mom was so grateful, if only she knew. But who would believe Derek, after all Carl was a local hero, the guy with a magic touch, straightening out those who everyone else had given up on.

"I'm going to bed," Derek muttered, leaving without so much as a glance back at his mother, he couldn't let her see the tears.

Watching her son leave Fran slumped down on the couch, sobbing silently. She only hoped that Carl continued to help her son, seeing that she no longer could.

. . . . . .

Sarah Morgan stood as Derek came up the stairs. She considered blocking him, taking him on_. How dare he do this to Mom?_ But then in the darkness she saw his face, the tears that streak his cheeks. She froze.

Derek glared at her; his look silenced her, as he passed to his room.

Once inside he shut the door. Sitting on the floor he looked up at the new trophy, pride of place on his shelf. Star player. Carl Buford's special project. _Real special_, he thought bitterly.

As he sat the night out, he swore to himself that things would be different. He had one option and only one option. He had to keep his head down, and get the hell out of here the right way. He needed the strength to do what needed to be done, to make it, to be someone. Not because of Carl Buford, but in spite of him.

As the sun begun to rise, a new wave of determination gripped Derek, as he knew that no matter what he would make his family proud of him again. That he would be proud of himself. One day.

. . . . . .

"Each time we face our fear, we gain strength, courage, and confidence in the doing."

**Anon**

**Sorry that was another dark one and a bit different as it wasn't a direct run on from the show, that that was where the prompt took me. **


	10. What Happens at Home

**Series 6 one-shots - What Happens at Home**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**OK so I'm on catch up today – I felt I owed it to those who have kindly reviewed, it really is encouraging.**

**Prompt:**

**Seaver: **I just feel like he's winning if I don't hate him.

**Rossi:** No Kiddo, there's no winning. There's just life, living, moving forward; if you keep doing that you'll be alright.

**Seaver:** Is that true?

**Rossi:** It is for me.

**Seaver:** Thank you.

**. . **

Rossi sat back and watched the young blonde as she tried to remain in control of her emotions. As soon as they had got on the plane she had singled herself off from the team. He could understand that. They could be over bearing at times, too quick to help, to listen and to talk. Maybe that was why he had failed at marriage he thought, smiling to himself. Never was good at sharing.

He studied her as she stared out of the cabin window, lost in the pitch black night. Who knew where her thoughts were now. Her father was one possibility. What she would do now she'd had a taste of being in the field was another. Or just being thankful that she was still alive and not another statistic in the FBI records.

She was young, she could get over her mistake and move on. Just because the BAU might not be the right place for her, didn't mean that she hadn't got a future in the FBI. But she needed to move on, or the baggage she carried would eventually trip her up, and to worse consequences then today. Hopefully this could serve as a lesson, but she had to move on and not dwell on it.

"Coffee?"he asked quietly.

Ashley nodded her head, not saying a word, not looking at her superior.

As David got up and made his way to the kitchen area, he paused to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Ashley turned to face him, letting a solitary tear roll as she did so. Neither said a word. They didn't have to.

Dave walked past the now sleeping team. It never failed to amaze him how drained they all were after a case. Yet, as he had got older it didn't seem to have the same physical impact on him. He wished he could sleep so soundly straight away. He noted that Hotch, however, was not sleeping, and did occasionally wonder if he ever slept, now-a-days.

Making a coffee for Ashley and one for himself; Rossi headed back. He placed the cup down silently and sat. Ashley snatched the cup up, wrapping her hands around it, absorbing its warmth. Possible shock setting in Rossi noted, making a mental note.

There they sat together, but apart, all the way home.

. .

"Hotch, you got a moment," Rossi asked, before leaving, a few days later.

Dave hadn't been able to get Ashley Seaver out of his mind. _Was this what being a father was like? _he had thought over the weekend. You worry about them when they're in view and even more so when you can't see them.

"Sure Dave, come in."

Taking a seat in his colleague, and friend's, office, he silently accepted the offer of a drink, which had been signalled to him.

Aaron decided against sitting behind his desk, preferring to join his friend in a more relaxed manner. Officially they should have left over half an hour ago.

"What's bothering you?" Aaron asked as he sat down.

"Seaver," he said flatly.

"Oh," Aaron didn't know what else he was supposed to say. He thought he had made his feelings about the new recruit quite clear.

"She's a good kid, Aaron. Her motivation is pure. She made a mistake," Dave knew he was defending the inexcusable, but he felt he had to go into bat for her. She had no-one else to do it.

"A mistake that nearly cost her life."

"She won't do it again, you heard her say that."

"I know she won't do it again, as she won't have chance," Aaron sighed, "They are trying to rip the team apart, JJ was just the tip of the ice-burg. I don't know how much longer I can defend the unit. I have already failed JJ, who next?"

"And want exactly does that have to do with Ashley. You are not suggesting she was sent in here to help break up the team, are you? After all we chose her, remember?"

"As I remember it, you chose her Dave. Don't you think you are a little old for a pet project? Besides it's hardly fair on her, you being there, butting in, and guiding her decisions. She needs to stand on her own two feet and decide if this is truly what she wants. I'm not convinced it is."

"What makes you say that?" Dave's hackles were up, "She's bright, keen and has valuable first-hand experience. She could be just what we need, fresh blood. Change isn't always a bad thing."

"Tell Garcia that," he snorted.

"I just think she deserves another chance," Dave took a sip of his drink, trying to calm himself, "After all she isn't the first over-enthusiastic agent to make mistakes on their first trip out in the big bad world."

Aaron clocked Dave's look, he knew he was referring to his first case. Aaron wondered if Dave was ever going to let him forget that.

"And," Dave continued, "I think she has learnt a lesson from this. I really believe she will think twice next time. More than I can say for some of the current members of the team."

"What does that mean?" Aaron now rising in defence of his unit.

"Well it wasn't that long ago that you went in solo to a burning building and then again to talk an UnSub down, and I can pretty much guarantee it won't be the last time I see you do it either."

Aaron shook his head, sometimes he could believe that David had as much of an eidetic memory as Reid.

"That was different, I am an experienced agent, and I have learnt what risks to take."

"And how do you get experience, unless someone is willing to take a chance on you?" Dave knew he was pushing his luck.

Aaron finished his drink in one quick swig and looked at Dave.

"If you can persuade someone on the team to act as her supervisor, after what she has just done, then I will see if we can take her on, but it can't be you Dave. It has to be someone else."

Dave smiled and nodded his approval to the deal. He finished his drink and made a move to leave, silently accepting his victory.

"But Dave, this will be her only chance, understand?"

"Understood," Dave stated and left.

. .

Sitting outside the bar, David Rossi wasn't sure this was such a good idea. Maybe he should wait until he had found a supervisor, but it was too late now.

Entering the bar, he spotted Ashley straight away. He made his way over to her.

"Thank you for coming to meet me Ashley," Dave said, as he sat down opposite her.

She shrugged, it wasn't as if she had anything else better to be doing right now, and besides, over the years she had got use to Rossi's random calls to support her.

"This may seem like a silly question, but I need you to answer one-hundred percent honestly. Do you still want to join the BAU?" he asked, "You do not have to tell me you answer tonight."

Ashley looked at the older man, sat in front her, as he ordered a drink. Her guardian angel, always nearby, watching and waiting for a chance to swoop in and save her. Here he was again.

"I . . . I honestly don't know. After what Hotch said on the flight home, I didn't think it was an option any longer, so I haven't thought about it anymore."

"Come on Ashley," he wanted to be patient with her, "You don't expect me to believe that?"

"Hotch made it quite clear I had let myself and the team down. I really don't want to be somewhere I'm not wanted."

"What if you had a supervisory agent, not me, one of the team. Would that persuade you that the team want you to join them?"

Ashley shrugged, taking a sip of her juice.

"Don't burn your bridges Ash, this could be a great opportunity to move on."

"Move on," she spat, "You make it sound so easy."

"The only hurdle you have is yourself. You have got to want to move on, to channel the energy you are wasting on the past and focus it on the future. Being in the BAU is not going to give you some magical answer as to why your father did what he did. And you can't make amends for what he did either, he has been judged and justice has been served. He has had enough of an impact on your life. Don't let it continue. Stop it now Ashley, while you still have the chance. Or in twenty years time you will still be alone, with your defences up high, keeping everyone out of your world. It's your choice, let me know."

Rossi rose and left without another word.

A day hadn't passed when he hadn't thought about the young girl, who had stood so still in the kitchen the day they raided the house. She had watched every move they made, but not flinched, not even when her own mother started screaming at them. He had taken the time to check up on her each year as she grew, somehow feeling responsible for her. He wondered if there would ever be a day when he would lose that feeling. If he could ever move on.

. .

Moving on, is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard.

**Dave Mustaine, **

**songwriter and musician**

**Thought I'd give Seaver another shot, I have previously tried her for a challenge story (A Lesson Learnt if anyone is interested).**

**Please review – it really does encourage me and help me with future chapters and characterisation.**


	11. 25 to Life

**Series 6 One-shots – 25 to Life**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**This is the first time I have ever written Strauss – she may have been mentioned before in another story, but as far as I can remember I have never written so much as a line for her. As I said I would do something for every character I had to include her (my own personal challenge). **

**Prompt:**

**Rossi: **We can't arrest this man. That's what you mean. Don't pull any punches now, Erin.

**Strauss: **You don't understand what the politics are, do you Dave?

**Rossi:** No, I do. I just don't care.

. . . . .

Shaking her head, as she watched Derek Morgan shake the hand of the man she thought was guilty; a man who had silently served twenty-five years for a crime he had never committed, Erin Strauss was disappointed with herself. A few hours previously she had been ready to hang Agent Morgan out to dry. He had gone out on a limb and could have brought the reputation of the BAU down with him. But he had stood his ground, the moral high ground, and because of that a serial killer had been caught and an innocent man would have a chance to be reunited with his son.

She sighed heavily, leaving SSA Morgan with Don Sanderson.

Straightening her jacket, as she left the observation room, Strauss lifted her head and walked purposely along the corridor. There was no way she was going to let her guard down now. After all the years she had spent fighting to get to the top she had learnt how to cover whatever internal conflicts she had. The public face, for all to see, that only slipped when she knew she was truly alone and nobody would see her.

As she reached her office she noticed the light on. _What now?_ she thought to herself.

Opening the door she was surprised to see David Rossi relaxing in the chair opposite hers, whiskey in hand, feet propped up on her wide desk.

Clearing her throat, just to make sure he realised she had walked into the room; Erin made her way towards him. Her back poker straight, she was barely able to contain the fury building in her. Yet he didn't even have the decency to flinch, to attempt to look like he wasn't lounging all over her office, as if he owned it.

"SSA Rossi, I assuming there is an exceedingly good reason for you to be in my office without my permission. Not to mention making yourself comfortable while you awaited my return."

Erin stood, arms folded, eyes locked with Rossi, who arrogantly still hadn't removed his feet from her desk.

Taking a sip of his whiskey, Rossi answered.

"I thought we could celebrate."

Dave nodded towards the bottle and glass on her desk.

"Celebrate? Am I missing something?"

Rossi resisted the possibility of many quips that came to mind, settling for a straight forward answer, knowing this would wind her up just as much.

"Justice, of course. The fact that no matter how important you think you are that you cannot get away with murder."

Erin's eyes narrowed. She was too tired for his games.

"David, as you seem to have no other purpose than to try your best to annoy me, I suggest you leave before you are successful," though if she was honest he already was, "Don't forget, in this current climate of budget cuts you are an expensive commodity."

David smirked, "Is that a threat?"

"Be very careful I don't make it a promise."

Slowly lowering his feet, Rossi swallowed the contents of his glass and placed it on her desk.

"Shall I leave that," he nodded towards the bottle, still centre of her desk, "You look like you need it."

"I don't need anything form you David Rossi, never have and never will."

"Now come on Erin, we both know that's not true, don't we," his eyes glistened in a way the aggravated her further.

Taking the seat behind her desk, she looked up at him, expression set.

"Is there anything else?"

David shook his head.

"Good, then please leave, some of us actually have work to do," she added rather curtly.

Rossi couldn't help but snigger, he'd won, and she knew it. One for all that believed in justice and morals over politics and playing the game, he thought as he left her office.

Erin remained rooted to the spot, until she was certain he was well out of the way. She would not crumble, especially not in front of him.

Once she was sure that David Rossi was not going to pop back to further irritate her, she retrieved her own decanter of malt and a glass. As she poured herself a generous shot, Erin was aware of her hand shaking slightly; only a tremble, but enough to notice. She cursed under her breath that he had managed to rile her so, but deep down she knew she was cross with herself.

Returning to her seat, she started to leaf through the paperwork piled in front of her. Trying to prioritise, leaving the unnecessary until tomorrow.

However Erin couldn't focus. Sitting back she tried to clear her thoughts. She was furious that she had, barely hours earlier, stood in this very room, defending a man that had killed three people. That she had tried to stop his arrest, purely because she was worried about the impact it would have on her budget. She was happy to see an innocent man return to prison and let a guilty man further himself in society, letting him wield more power, all for the few dollars she may or may not get added into the account. David Rossi may not care for politics, but they were not going to go away, so you had to learn how to play the game, and win. Like it or not.

Dropping her head in shame, she wondered when exactly she had become completely heartless. _When politics had become more important than a man's right to life?_

There were plenty of sacrifices she had made over the years. Personal sacrifices, and maybe the odd colleague along the way, but never had she been willing to put an innocent man on the line to save face.

It was a fine line she walked. Long ago she had realised there were no friends left when you reached this height. She had either offended them or they were jealous. She had given up on gaining the respect of those she commanded, all she asked was that they had the decency to be courteous to her face, behind her back they could say what they liked, as long as the job got done. Obviously David Rossi failed to receive that memo, she thought bitterly.

She was ruthless, she'd had to be. She was a woman in a man's world. If she showed emotion she was weak. Yet if she was able to hold her own she was cold. Either way she knew she couldn't win. So instead she survived.

She had made herself leader of the pack, and what a pack. Within her section she had an elite unit, the BAU team headed by Aaron Hotchner, called on nationwide. She may not tell them but she was proud of their achievements. She may not understand them, she definitely wasn't part of them, but she respected them.

Now if only she could work out how her budget would allow her to keep them, without showing the secret favouritism she had to them. She had already skimmed off Agent Jereau without too much damage, but who was next? She'd threatened Derek Morgan, but honestly he was a potential Unit Chief, someone else would snap him up if she let him go. Rossi would be a personal favourite to go, and it was no secret that she had been pushing Aaron out for years. Either would save a huge amount, but when did cuts start to affect the efficiency?

Rising to stand by the window, watching the flicker of lights in the night sky, she stared into the deep nothingness in front of her.

As always she would be cruel to be kind, the next few months would be tough, but when wasn't it. David Rossi and the other moralists of this world could lecture their ideals and assume she sat here doing nothing but play God all day. But they didn't have to face the decisions she had to, if they did, she wondered, where would their morals lie then?

When the time came she would make what decisions were needed and live with the consequences.

. . . . .

You have to learn the rules of the game.

And then you have to play better than anyone else.

**Albert Einstein**

. . . . .

**I know I always ask for reviews (what a demanding lot us writers are), but please I have never written Strauss and have another idea with her so would really appreciate any feedback as characterisation is so important to me. **


	12. Carazon

**Series 6 One-shots – Carazon**

**My apologies in the delay in updating but real-life is crashing in and demanding attention. Once I have hit my deadlines then I can get more me time and I will get back to more regular updates (also learning the lesson of not trying to update more than one thing at a time.)**

**Prompt:**

**Julio Ruiz (speaking to Reid): **Your head is splitting because it's full of ghosts. Think you can do this work day in day out and you don't carry it with you, but it eating your soul.

. . .

Waking with a sudden jolt, Spencer tried to steady himself. Looking around, bleary eyed, he realised he was home, this time. Trying to focus on the dimly lit desk, desperately searching out the clock in the mass of paper surrounding him, Spencer realised it was just gone 3am. Sighing he leant back in the chair that he had been sleeping in, raking his long finger through his hair.

The action was enough to trigger another wave of pain from the now constant ache he suffered. Curling up in agony, it was times like this that he truly believed his head was splitting in two, right down the middle.

Rocking slightly, clawing his knees as he rested his head on them, Spencer felt sick. Then he was forcing his breath - steady, deep and calm. When the final wave of nausea had washed over him Spencer looked up at his cluttered desk.

From under the reams of surface paper, he tugged a tattered journal. Its dark cover was battered and lose pages were trying to escape their binds. It was not surprising they wanted out, the contents was horrific. Unconsciously he stroked the rough outer, as if trying to tame it.

When he was young he always remember his mother keeping a journal, it was something she still did to this day. It was a habit he had picked up from her. When he was at High school, its pages had been filled with stories of torment and bulling. Until the night a few years back, when he had told Morgan about what had happened on the football field, that journal had been the keeper of his secrets.

This one was no different, he thought, picking at the fraying edge. It held the things he couldn't share with his mother. He wrote daily to her, but was careful with the contents, she worried enough without sharing the true horror of the path he trod.

This was his book of the dead, pages of ghosts, real and metaphorical. Those who had truly impacted on his life, then left, for whatever reason. Leafing through lazily, Spencer stopped at a sketch of Jason Gideon. Tucked into the same page was the letter that he had found at Gideon's cabin.

Fingering the discoloured envelope, Spencer didn't need to open it to recall the contents. That's the problem with an eidetic memory; it's all engrained there, forever, constantly haunting you.

"Spencer, I knew it would be you who came to the cabin to check on me. I'm sorry the explanation couldn't be better, Spencer. And I'm sorry it doesn't make more sense. But I've already told you... I just don't understand any of it anymore."

Originally Spencer hadn't understood his mentor's words, but now, after several years in the BAU, the explanation was becoming clearer. He no longer knew if he understood it anymore. The world he lived in was rapidly becoming claustrophobic, the blur around him harder to interpret.

Spencer moved on, he didn't want to wallow on the parallels forming between their lives.

Flicking rapidly through, he rested as a photo of him, JJ and Henry slipped out. Taking hold of the memento he smiled. His best friend and his Godson ripped away by senior management, no longer the large part of his life. Even in the short period JJ had been gone, there had been cancelled get togethers. Cases over run, she was needed to solve some political mess, he was sure the list would go on. _How long before he only saw Henry on Birthdays and holidays?_ The thought broke his heart.

Nearing the beginning, another letter tucked in, like a bookmark for a chapter of his life. But this letter was in his own hand, one he had written as part of the program he followed, to make amends with himself. He had written such a long letter, the out pouring had been quiet therapeutic at the time. Forgiving himself for everything he had done in his short life, promising to make amends in the future. But now he had to wonder if he had actually managed any of it, or if they were just hollow promises.

Thumbing back a page or two Spencer found the catalyst of his addiction: Tobias Hankel. Sighing deeply, he knew this was one spectre that continued to haunt him. His voice, the way it changed with each personality he portrayed, like his body was totally possessed by another spirit. Everything about him altered, the way he held himself, his walk, and his actions; each character completely altering him, until there was little of the original Hankel left.

Everything about Hankel was clear, yet it hadn't helped him see the same condition in another killer. If he had realised earlier that Adam had the same condition then Amanda may not have been able to consume him. Spencer knew he had let Adam down. _How many others had he failed?_

Letting people down had started at an early age, just ask Riley Jenkins. He had found justice for him in the end_, but at what cost?_ He father had been disappointed in him digging up the past, they still weren't talking, neither able to fully forgive and forget.

Or Elle, a colleague and a friend, at least he'd tried with her. He'd tried to reach out to her, talk to her. He knew she was suffering, but he hadn't stopped her from going out and killing a man. Admittedly a guilty man, but still it was murder, not justice.

Picturing Elle's face in the hotel room, he closes his eyes, recalling their conversation. As sleep starts to tug at him, he closes the book and places it on top of today's letter to his Mom.

Wearily he makes his way through to his bedroom. Flopping onto the bed in the clothes he's wearing, Spencer shuts his eyes. Slowing his breathing he waits for sleep to come, to take him away, the dull throb in his head beating a steady rhythm. Even in his bed the images continue to form as his mind drifts.

First Nathan Harris, Spencer saved him when he had tried to commit suicide, against his wishes, but he saved the life of a future serial killer? He knew what it was like to want release from a tormented mind; maybe he should have let Nathan have his escape.

Then Chester Hardwick, meeting him as he sat on death-row, one week left. Watching a man who knew death was coming. Not in the inevitable way we all do, but he had a date and time for his end. Analysing the desperate actions, knowing that no matter what he did, it would all soon be over.

Or Owen Savage, another he 'saved'. Owen was the loner, bullied and growing up hating himself. Spencer had seen so much of himself in him. He had taken unnecessary risks at that point. Hotch had made it clear that he wasn't pleases with his actions. But Spencer had needed salvation – if not his own then someone else's.

Spencer was feeling drowsy, no longer able to open his eyes in a vain attempt to clear the images. As he drifted into sleep they continued to come, UnSubs, victims, friends and colleagues. _What did he have to do to stop them? Would they ever stop? _

As his heavy breaths turned into soft snores, the images melted into the darkness, and fresh dreams came to plague the genius' thoughts. Accepting the deal, anything for the precious sleep he needed. In his mind's eye he could see a new face, one he hadn't added to the journal, but he knew he would, possibly before his morning alarm sounded, depending how long he was granted rest.

The piercing eyes staring out of the darkness, unblinking. Julio Ruiz. Spencer didn't know how, he wasn't a big believer in any form of spirituality, but somehow Ruiz had seen the turmoil in his mind. He knew. Spencer may have brushed his words away at the time, but Ruiz was right this work was eating his soul.

. . .

Behind every man now alive stand 30 ghosts, for that is the ratio by which the dead outnumber the living.

**Arthur C Clarke, 2001: A Space Odyssey**

. . . 

**I can't believe it has taken this long to get round to Spencer Reid. Sorry again it is a dark one, but I think Series 6 has thrown a few dark parts to each character. Please let me know your thoughts – which reminds me to give a special thank you to Nebula 2 for all her support with this story.**


	13. The 13th Step

**Series 6 One-shots – The 13****th**** Step**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

**OK so those of you who read the last chapter may have noticed I referred to an amends letter Reid wrote as part of his drug recovery. So this is my take on that letter.**

**Prompt:**

**Reid:** If they are really working the programme they could be working on the hardest steps.

**Hotch:** Which are?

**Reid:** Seven, eight and nine. Acknowledge your shortcomings, accept responsibility and make amends.

. . . . . . .

Dear Friend,

I've come to make amends for all that I have done during my addiction.

I hoped that by gaining release through the use of drugs I would be able to escape from the mental and physical suffering I have had to face. But I didn't. It made me restless and never able to relax. I was jumpy and nervous and anxious, especially around those closest to me. Constantly ashamed that they may find out my dirty little secret, but equally fooling myself that they had no idea what I was doing. How stupid can a genius be? I was agitated and irritable to the point that everything and everybody made me uncomfortable. At my lowest points I was deeply depressed and so confused; it became impossible to think clearly or positively. I began to hate everything and everybody. Top of my hate list was myself; I've never been my biggest fan, but I was finding fault with every action I took. I was treading on eggshells to avoid arguing with my inner voice. It brought back feelings I had hoped I had dealt with. The guilty and remorseful feelings I had when I arranged for Mum to move to Bennington. For the things I have done in the past that I have never been able to let go of. They would come crawling back in the deep dark of the night, sneaking up on me and taunting me until daylight.

I became increasingly angry and hateful toward the world around me. I hate the way it was and the way I was. I felt so sorry for myself and blamed everything but my addiction for the way things were. If Hankel hadn't of captured me, if JJ hadn't of left me, if I hadn't of gone off on my own, if, if, if. But never willing to admit the cause of my problems, what my real difficulty was. It made me deceitful and untrustworthy; I was lying to the very people that were trying to help me. I would manipulate whoever it was necessary to do so to get my fix. The fear and paranoia the drugs breed; that was sparked by nothing at all, no reason. I would lay awake during all hours of the night, my body screaming for more and my head telling me to be strong, to stop. I couldn't sleep without a fix; and then it would fill my nightmares with images I never wanted to see.

I was spiralling towards the stage where the drugs were the first thing I woke up to every morning and the last thing I'd touch before blacking out at night. I knew I was killing myself slowly, but I had relinquished all control. Each time I tried to stop alone, the drugs would still be waiting for me when I could take the pain no longer. I was slowly going insane. The physical damage that it was causing was taking its toll, and becoming more apparent each day. I would rush home each day, or back to some hotel room, bathroom, anywhere, shivering and shaking, freezing and sweating at the same time, when I woke each morning my sheets and blankets were soaking wet.

It's amazing how much destruction drugs can do to your internal organs, while at the same time work on your brain, destroying it bit by bit. I sacrificed so much for each fix, where would I be without my mind?

But in the end there was one sacrifice I wasn't willing to make. I would not lose my job. Not the fine friends that blatantly deeply cared for me, I would not give up my BAU family. How they never turned against me because of my inexcusable actions I don't know, but I am more than grateful.

My unconventional family and the most important people in the world to me. I couldn't throw them away for a drug. I cannot express in words the gratitude I have for the loyalty they have to me. I knew then that I couldn't devote myself to this life any longer. I had to stop. I had friends I could depend on, even if I didn't want to tell them. I was ready to stop in living hell. I wanted to keep my mind, body and soul.

So having admitted my personal shortcomings and accepted responsibility for my actions I must take the next step and make amends. The list is long, but I will continue until it is clear. I only hope that each person I have wronged can accept my apology. Though I am sure I know the name that I will have to work hardest to convince: Dr Spencer Reid.

Faithfully yours,

Spencer

. . . . . . . .

I admire anyone who rids himself of an addiction.  
><strong>Gene Tierney, actress<strong>

**. . . . . . .**

**Sorry the last couple of chapters have taken a while but both have needed a fair bit of research to get them right; especially this one that was inspired by an anonymous letter written from 'The Drug' to the user.**

**For anyone who is interested I mentioned in chapter 4 the possibility of a Prentiss/Morgan off shoot story. It is posted and in progress (now more than a one shot), it is Mrated for a reason, so only read if that is your cup of tea! It is called Surprises and the final chapter is with my Beta now.**

**More soon, once real life is back under control.**


	14. Sense Memory

**Series 6 One-shots – Sense Memory**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**Prompt:**

**Morgan:** Prentiss, what's going on with you?

**Prentiss: **With me?

**Morgan: **I've been watching you the last couple of days and something has obviously been bothering you.

**Prentiss:** (sigh) Derek because I like you I'm going to ask you not to do this . . . please.

. . . . . .

Derek sat watching her from his corner of the plane, he'd never her seen her like this; so edgy, yet distracted at the same time. He was aware he was staring, but nothing could make him break his focus. It was obvious she wasn't sleeping, the shadows showed lightly under her make-up. She had specifically told him to leave it, but he couldn't do that. She was his partner, his friend and if she thought she could shrug him off that easily, well she obviously didn't know him as well as he thought she did.

. . . . . . .

When Emily bustled in the next morning, Derek was stood in the kitchen area, coffee in hand. Instinctively he reached for another mug.

He watched as she made her way through the bullpen to her desk. Her whole demeanour was wrong. Gone was the assertive strong walk, replaced with rushed but tentative steps. Her sleek groomed appearance was a little ruffled and rough round the edges. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn she'd worn that shirt yesterday; it definitely wasn't pressed as well as they usually were.

He collected the two mugs and made his way to her desk, as she flopped into her chair.

"Don't get too comfortable," he commented, pushing the mug of steaming coffee into her hand, "My office, now!"

Derek was not getting into an argument within ear shot of Reid and Seaver; he was more than aware that they had both paused.

"Sorry," Emily was stunned at his tone.

"We need to talk, now," Derek added quietly.

Derek went to hold her elbow, helping out of her seat.

Emily tugged her arm away, spilling scolding hot coffee on her hand, she cursed, glaring at Derek.

His eyes matched the look, letting her know that he wasn't going to budge.

Emily shook her head softy, her eyes now almost begging him not to do this.

'Now' he mouthed slowly, holding his hand out and waiting for her to walk in front of him.

Reluctantly Emily led the way to Derek's office. Her shoulders had slumped, as she trudged on.

Seaver gave Reid a questioning look, as they watched the scene unfold in front of them. Reid just shrugged. Neither had any idea what had just gone down, and to be honest, neither wanted to.

. . . . . .

Inside Derek's office, Emily hovered uneasily.

"Sit."

"I'm fine as I am; thanks."

"Really? That's a matter of opinion," Derek muttered, sitting behind his desk and watching her, she had turned away from him; he knew it was a defiant action. This wasn't going to be easy. He waited; it gave him time to think through his next move. Hard and fast and hope to catch her of guard, or soft and gentle, slowly coaxing the information out of her.

God the woman was stubborn, he thought after silent minutes had passed and she continued to face away from him. He dropped his head in his hands, rubbing his face.

"I know you told me to mind my own, but Em, where were you last night?"

Emily spun, fury evident in her elegant features, "What the . . ."

Derek held a hand up, stopping her mid flow.

"I came over; looking for you and you weren't home. Em I'm worried about you, can't you see that?"

Derek suddenly decided the softer approach may be better, especially if he didn't want personal injury or the whole building to become aware of their 'conversation'.

"So, what? I'm supposed to ask your permission to go out now," sarcasm dripping off every word she spoke, "Sorry I must have missed that memo, won't happen again. If that's all, can I go now?"

"No."

Emily raised one eyebrow in question to his order.

"How about you sit down, and we start again," Derek offer gently, sipping his coffee.

With a sigh Emily dropped into the chair, like a petulant teenager facing a lecture from her Dad.

"Emily," Derek now sighed, concern evident in his dark eyes, "Whatever it is you've got going on, you can tell me. I'm here, trust me, please."

"Derek," Emily started then faltered, turning to face the shuttered window to the bullpen, "It's not that I don't trust you, you have to know that, I trust you with my life. But this time, you have to trust me, and back off."

"I only want to help," Derek moved from behind his desk, crouching in front of her.

Emily forced a smile, as she returned her glance to him, unable to meet his eyes.

"I know, and if I need it then I know where to find you."

Softly Derek lifted her chin with one finger, looking deeply into her eyes. He could she how uncomfortable she was, as she sifted in her seat. Lost for words, he released her and walked back to his desk.

Emily just stared at his back, biting her lip as she fought the tears that threatened to spill. Slowly she stood and left, unable to believe her voice could say anything, if she could think of the words.

Closing the door behind her she headed straight to the bathroom.

He heard her leaving, but made no further attempt to stop her.

Derek didn't know which was worse. Giving up on her that easily or knowing she was hiding something from him. Both bit him hard as he struggled to come to terms with his emotions. It was so evident she wasn't alright, and whatever 'it' was, she was struggling. _Why did she not trust him enough to let him help?_

. . . . . .

Emily managed a quick check as she entered the bathroom. She didn't want to risk bumping into anyone else, not while she was struggling for control.

Gripping the basin for support, she stared at her reflection. She was trying so hard to maintain her mask, but could see it was slipping. It would only get harder, she thought to herself.

Making the decision to leave her home last night, and live out of hotels and motels, gave her limited resources to hide behind. That coupled with working with what was probably the best team of profilers in the world, meant she couldn't keep her secret forever. Closing her eyes she wondered how long she would have to keep up this farce. Silently she prayed that whatever was to come, it come quickly.

Looking at the slight swell to her eyes she wished she had her purse with her, wanting to fix the damage to her make-up, before others started asking questions she couldn't answer. She didn't want to lie; but if it kept them safe, then she would do anything. Anything!

The team could not know the truth; if they did they would jump to her defence. Sighing, she tried to banish the thought of one of them getting hurt because of her actions. Emily knew the damage Doyle was capable of causing and he was more than capable of hurting any of them to get to her, all of them if he thought it was necessary.

Emily jumped as the door opened; she spun around to come face to face with Ashley. The young trainee's eyes dropped to the floor. _Great_, Emily thought, even the newbie can see the cracks.

Rapidly Emily straightened her clothes and walked out, without saying a word.

This was going to be harder then she thought.

Even though she felt safe at work she couldn't let her guard down. Not because of the threat of Doyle – even he wouldn't come after her here. No this was the threat of her friends and there concern. She needed to remain focused, strong, clear-minded, she couldn't let emotion cloud her judgement.

Walking purposely back into the bullpen, Emily glanced at Derek's office, she saw him watching. She flashed him a smile, before sitting at her desk. Hoping he would listen this time.

. . . . . .

Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.

**Anon**

**. . . . . .**

**I have tried to avoid the whole Prentiss/Doyle thing as much as possible, but the look in Morgan's eye in the cab! **

**Hope you're still enjoying it – please do let me know it really helps. I special thank you to those who have reviewed regularly, but also to those who had alerted or favourite'd. **


	15. Today I Do

**Series 6 One-shots – Today I Do**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I found this episode really difficult to do something for – I hope this is OK.**

**Prompt: **Today I do, tomorrow I will.

. . .

Ashley looked at the ever increasing mountain of paperwork, alongside the pile of books, notes and general paraphernalia that filled her desk. As she flicked her eyes over each pile in turn, her mind was spinning. _Where was she supposed to start?_

As she shuffled things aimlessly from one heap to another, in the vain attempt to look like she was prioritising everything. Looking around she was desperately trying to remember which deadline was hitting first – was it the report Prentiss had asked her to compile or her finial case study?

Right now it didn't matter, as she couldn't find either.

Spencer had sat watching her for a few minutes, he couldn't help but have a small smile, and there was something nice about not being the youngest any longer. Finally someone he could pass his words of wisdom onto.

Getting up, with his constant mug of coffee in hand, he made his way over to her desk; confident that he could help.

Ashley cursed, as one of her strategically loaded piles tumbled to the ground. Automatically she reached out to catch what she could, bending down to pick up the rest. Rapidly she noticed the arrival of Dr Spencer Reid.

Looking up his long legs, she smiled weakly.

"Want a hand?" he offered gently.

Ashley was so glad it was him; anyone else may well stand dispensing their impeccably timed advice, but not Spencer. He'd just fill her time with random facts; like the average amount of paper used to create one FBI document, or the annual cost of staples for the bureau.

She nodded, trying to collect everything as quickly as possible. Placing his mug on her desk, Spencer crouched down and was soon joining in the paper collection. Secretly glad for once it wasn't him.

Once the floor was clear, and Spencer had collected another cup of coffee and his chair, he settled next to Ashley.

"So where do you want to start?" he asked, subconsciously totting up the contents of her desk.

Ashley shrugged.

"I have no idea," she finally admitted, "I just can't seem to get organised. One step forwards and two back, every day at the moment."

She sighed.

Spencer looked at the young blonde trainee.

"Ok left to right, top to bottom, we take each file, book, document in order and sort them into piles due what their purpose is. Once we have done that we can prioritise within each pile. After that we can . . ."

"Thank you," Ashley interrupted, "how about we just start."

At near enough an hour later, Ashley's desk was still covered, but each pile was now organised. She had a pile to deal with today, those for the rest of the week and the things that could wait, for the moment any way.

Spencer was proud of the organised chaos that was now in front of them.

"You know when I first started, Morgan use to put extra reports in my pile to do, he use to justify it by saying that because I read and worked quicker than him I needed to do more to be considered cost effective. To be honest I think he still does it some days," he added with a pout.

Ashley couldn't help but laugh, only Morgan could do that and find a way to justify it.

"I'm serious," Spencer now looked offended.

"Honestly, I believe you," Ashley stifled her giggles, "Thanks for your help, but I think I've got it now."

"If you are sure, but just ask if you need any more help, anytime, I mean it," he said, getting up to return to his desk, however, over his shoulder he added, "I find colour coding really useful, I can show you how I do it you would like some time."

"Thank you, but I'll see how I go."

. . . .

Ashley ploughed through the first pile. Her spirits lifting slightly each time she completed a task. There was something extremely satisfying about reaching the bottom of that first pile. She celebrated with another coffee and a cookie.

Leading back as she appreciated her break, she glanced over at Spencer. He had his head down, computer on, files open and was softly tapping his pen on the pad as he read.

_She owed him one_, Ashley thought silently as she made a start on the next collection.

. . . .

Rubbing her eyes, Ashley was just about ready to give up and go home. It had been a long day and she was shattered. As she tried to stretch out the aches of being hunched over a desk all day, she notice she wasn't the only one left in the bullpen.

"Reid?" she questioned.

Spencer looked up, as if noticing for the first time she was the only one left in the bullpen. He knew she was still there; he had been making his paperwork stretch as he didn't want to leave her working there alone. In fact he had just pinched a file from Prentiss's desk to keep himself going.

"Mmmm," he nodded.

"I was just surprised to see you still here."

"I like to set myself a target, and try not to leave until I've finished it," he explained matter of factly.

"Oh, have you nearly reached today's target?"

"I was just going to finish this, then make a move. How about you?"

Ashley spread her hands out in front of her, "I have a desk. I think it is the first time I have seen the surface since I started, and I plan on keeping it this way. I really don't know what happened. I'm normally so organised. I hate losing control like this."

Spencer gave her a little smile of encouragement.

"Everyone works different, you just needed to work out what's best for you, and hopefully you have now."

"Thanks to you, Dr Reid; which I figure means I owe you. How about we go and grab something to eat?" She plucked up the courage to ask. She figured she could do with building some bridges with the team if she was going to stick around. Also she realised she had worked through luch and was now starving.

Spencer thought about it for a moment.

"Not Chinese," he eventually answered.

"I'm treating you as a thank you, so your choice."

. . . .

Sitting in the Mexican restaurant, Ashley half listened to Spencer's ream of Star Wars versus Star Trek facts, taking into account their levels of realism and probability of either even being true. He really was something else. Such an amazing mind, she wondered if the BAU really was making the best use of such a perfect resource.

But Spencer had chosen this. He had the right to use his intellect to whatever purpose he saw fit.

"What made you join the BAU?" she blurted out.

"Well, I, um," Spencer paused, "I was recruited, at a lecture, Jason Gideon asked me."

"Oh."

"Are you questioning whether the BAU is for you? I know when I first started I found it really hard to come to terms with what I saw. I went through a period of nightmares. On top of that I struggled with all the physical stuff, like my fire arms assessment. To be honest the paperwork was the easy bit for me."

"I don't know. It's definitely different to what I imagined."

Spencer looked at Ashley and realised he didn't think he'd ever seen her smile. She seemed to continually have the weight of the world on her shoulders. Suddenly he had nothing he could say to help. The wealth of facts and knowledge he contained, didn't come with a guide to how to apply them. He sat awkwardly wishing he had Gideon's or Rossi's knack for dealing appropriate advice.

Instead he reached out, giving her hand a quick squeeze.

Ashley appreciated his gesture, it spoke a million words. He was right, she could do this.

Today I do, tomorrow I will – I can do this!

. . . .

"I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day."

**James Joyce, Author**

**. . . .**

**I am not a Reid/Seaver shipper but, shot me if you like, I do feel there was some connection between these two. But then I feel Seaver really was a missed opportunity, such an underdeveloped character. Oh well rant over.**

**Let me know what you think, it really does encourage me to keep going.**


	16. Coda

**Series 6 One-shots – Coda**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Right so first major apologies – I could bore you with the details as to why it has taken so long to post but I'm sure you really don't want to know.**

**Second I am assuming most people will be expecting a Reid one-shot. Nah – but hope you enjoy.**

**Prompt:**

**Rossi:** He was afraid. Any father would be, learning his child isn't gonna have it as easy as he did.

**Lizzy Sparks:** You sound like you talk from experience.

. .

As he dropped his bag in the hall way, David Rossi ran his fingers through his hair. Leaning back against the now closed door, he let out a huge sigh. He was always glad when a case was over, but none more than today. Aspects of this one were a little too close for comfort.

Making his way through to the lounge, he poured a large scotch from the new bottle he was yet to sample. Taking a moment to savour the smell, before letting the liquid scorch his throat, he enjoyed that true pleasure/pain sensation of neat highland malt. Closing his eyes he paused for what seemed the first time in days.

Sinking into a plush leather arm chair, Dave tried to gather his thoughts.

As he placed his tumbler on the glass topped table, beside his chair, he reached for the phone.

It had been way too long since he had talked to his sister-in-law, ex-sister-in-law, he mentally corrected. He had always got on well with Libby, the whole family had, and after all they had all know her from high school, when she had started dating Marc. They were the original childhood sweethearts.

When they got married, after college, Dave already had one divorce under his belt. So he was no longer the apple of his mother's eye, just another shameful sinner. Sitting at the Wedding breakfast he had smiled at his mother fussing over her baby boy and his beautiful bride. When Libby fell pregnant on their honeymoon, all was finally perfect for Mama Rossi.

Oh how her illusions were soon shattered. As little Rosie grew to look more like her mother, so the little 'oddities' in her behaviour showed too. She wasn't hitting her milestones on time. By her first birthday people commented on her lack of babble, that she seemed to show no response to her name, in fact she had little interest in communicating with others.

Dave tried then to talk to his brother, tried hard to bridge the gap that had grown in the family. After all David was use to being the black sheep by now. Marc wasn't ready to listen, not then, not ever, _who would?_ No parent wants to hear that their bundle of joy may have a problem. As Marc pointed out, quite clearly 'she was a good baby, quiet, independent, undemanding, how could there be anything wrong with her?'

The Rossi family had continued to stick their collective head in the sand, letting the little girl grow. No-one listened to his concerns; no-one listened until a stranger pointed out what David had tried to tell them for years. Little Rose's Kindergarten teacher had sat them down and explained her concerns. She had pointed out how Rose showed little interest in her surroundings and what was going on. She wasn't trying to play with the other and had no friends. They were worried about how Rose had reacted to adult who had tried to comfort her after a fall, lashing out at anyone that came close, rather than accepting a hug, like a 'normal' child would.

Libby had told Dave how she had broken down, there and then, letting it all pour out of her, all her worries, and all her fears. But not Marc, he'd sat stiffly, denied everything, and then left.

Libby had asked Dave for help, as no-one else in the family wanted to accept the truth. He went with her while Rose was assessed and tested and observed. He'd listened patiently, wiped tears and silently supported. But even when Rose was diagnosed with Autism, Marc wouldn't listen. Not his baby girl!

Nothing could prepare the Rossi family for living with Autism. From as impartial a viewpoint as he could take, Dave watched the perfect family start to crumble. Marc was drinking more, still living in denial, she'd grow out of it. He saw Libby running herself into the ground, exhausted by a child that needed less sleep per night than your average adult, let alone child. He helped, finding out about different 'treatments' and support groups. Anything that may help shine a light in the darkness of their life.

In the end Marc left. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't deny it any longer, but equally he couldn't cope either. David had rushed to Libby's side. Yet somehow she seemed relieved, like it was one less thing to worry about. It was probably then that David realised what a strong woman Libby had become.

David stared at the phone, willing himself to call. It had been nearly a year and he felt awful that he had let it slide. Taking a swig of his drink he waited.

Rose was an adult now, still living at home, but with a supported work placement. She was a bright young girl who, with the right structure and routine in her life, was able to have a level of independence. She was proud of herself and would talk openly about her autism. Rose applied a simple logic to every aspect of her life, everything was black or white, no grey shadows. She told you if she didn't like something, or someone.

Putting the call off no longer, David punched in the numbers, finishing his drink as he listened to the ring.

"Hello, Rose Rossi speaking, how can I help?" came a very matter of fact voice.

"Hi Kiddo, it's Uncle David, how you doing?"

"Uncle David?" the voice had a slight questioning tome to it. "But it's not my birthday; you call at holidays and birthdays."

"I'm sorry Rose, but I've missed a few calls and wanted to catch up with you."

"Really, how far behind are you?"

Dave paused then realised the mistake in what he had said, he had forgotten how literally Rose took what you said.

"Catching up is another way of saying finding out how you are. So how are you?"

"I'm fine. Prof has said he is happy with my progress and my supervisor wants to put me forward for a promotion at work. How are you?"

"I'm good," David could hear Libby's voice in the background, and he clearly heard Rose say it was him, "Is your Mom there?"

"Yes," Rose answered flatly.

"Could I speak to her?"

"Yes," she replied again, and then he heard her call her Mom.

"Hello David, long time no hear, I was starting to think you were a Rossi after all."

"Now, now Libby, don't judge me by my family. I'm sorry it has been so long, do you really want the excuses?"

"Only if they are genuine and sincere," they both chuckled, "It's good to hear from you. Rose tells everyone about her FBI Uncle. She misses you; you really should come this way on one of your book tours. Who knows you could do a signing or something in the library she works in, Rose would be so pleased."

"You know what that sounds great; I'll see what I can sort out next time."

"So how are you? Still busy catching bad guys?"

"Way too busy."

Dave and Libby talked for hours, arranging a trip in a couple of weekends time. When David put the phone down he smiled. It would be great to see Libby and Rose again, the only part of his family who accepted him just the way he was. Maybe because he accepted them just the way they were.

. .

_Patience. Patience. Patience. Work to view my autism as a different ability rather than a disability. Look past what you may see as limitations and see the gifts autism has given me. It may be true that I'm not good at eye contact or conversation, but have you noticed that I don't lie, cheat at games, tattle on my classmates or pass judgment on other people? Also true that I probably won't be the next Michael Jordan. But with my attention to fine detail and capacity for extraordinary focus, I might be the next Einstein. Or Mozart. Or Van Gogh._

**Ellen Notbohm, author of Ten Things Every Child with Autism Wishes You Knew**

**. .**

**So I hope you don't mind that I went for Rossi for this one, but I felt there were lots of hints in the episode that showed the difficult decision Joe Mantegna has made in supporting his daughter Mia with her Autism. I can only hope I have done him some credit in writing this. I may not have taken a traditional view of Rossi's family but the research I did tells of Rossi wanting to leave his previous life behind.**

**Autism is an issue close to my heart. I have worked with several Autistic/Aspergers' pupils in mainstream school and last September made the move to a special school. Just over half of my class are Autistic and all are a pleasure to teach. I have come home happier each day then I did working in mainstream. I am honoured that each of 'my guys' have opened my eyes to a new view of life, and held my hand as they have led me on a tour of the world through their eyes. **


	17. Valhalla

**Series 6 One-shots – Valhalla**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**This letter is supposed to be written by Prentiss on the night she met with Doyle and left in her draw with her credentials, gun and phone when she left at the end of the episode. So technically wouldn't have been found until the next episode.**

**Prompt: **

**Tsia Mosely:** Maybe you should tell your team?

**Prentiss:** No! No way! This isn't their fight and I won't take that risk.

. . . . . . .

Hotch,

If you are reading this then I have had to walk away. It was not the course of action I wanted to take, but I will have been left with no option. It is not a decision I will have made lightly, but it is something I have been aware I may have to do from the start of this mess.

I can't begin to imagine how any of you feel right now, or what you have found out; which is why I have written this, as it may be my only chance to set the record straight. I need to have the peace of mind that you understand, even if you can't forgive me. I would never deceive any of you, not without good reason, and I believe I have had good reason. I only hope you all do.

I guess I should start at the very beginning. As you are aware I have a background in Interpol. From there I was chosen to join an anti-terrorist unit. I was part of a special tasks force, JTF-12. We were initially a profiling team, but in addition to the creating a profile we were charged with infiltrating the organisation we were tracking.

The roles for the assignment were never established until we were happy with the profile. Our finial assignment was to find an ex-IRA captain who was working free-lance; he used the cover name Valhalla. The only lead we had was a man named Ian Doyle. Clyde used a contact he had to set up a meeting, once it had been decided that I would take the cover of Lauren Reynolds, a European arms dealer.

I met Doyle for the first time in Boston, in a bar called The Black Shamrock. Initial contact was good, he responded well; but we knew he would from the profile we'd made. Lauren Reynolds was everything he looked for in a woman.

When I started the mission, I never thought I would have to compromise myself the way I did. I can honestly say I am not proud of my actions, but I am proud of the outcome. I did what was needed at the time. I am not going to debat the ethics of may actions, we have all had to bend the rules at some point, we just had a different set of rules to our game. However I never imagined he would fall in love with me and want to make me part of his family.

I had to stay undercover, as Doyle's lover, because we were no further forward in identifying Valhalla. In fact it wasn't until Doyle gave me a gimmel ring that he revelled he was Valhalla. From that day we worked on getting me out. It was decided that Doyle, and everyone in his household, would be arrested. On the day of the raid I was the first into the cars, arrested by the local agencies. Shortly after Lauren Reynolds was released and then killed off, in a car accident, to protect me from any of Doyle's associates that couldn't be found. Our job was done and out team disbanded.

Unknown to me Doyle was taken to a secret prison camp in North Korea. I don't want to discuss the ethics of a fair trial. Such criminals are caught and dealt with in the same extreme ways that they have lived their lives. Our actions matched his. He would have been 'interrogated' while there, I have no doubt he was living in hell for years.

Seven years later I get a call from Sean. Somehow Doyle has escaped. Once that happened it was only a matter of time before he came looking for everyone on the team. I don't know how he got his information, someone obviously had the right price. I have no idea whether he already knew I was part of the assignment or not, but he obviously found out the truth.

From the second he returned to Europe, we were all in danger. We, I, was his stressor, and will surely set him off onto a path of annihilation. Jeremy was the first, which makes me suspect he may have been the one to give Doyle the information. When you read this, I can only guess how many of us are left, me included.

By now I am sure you are furious with me, but I have more to explain before you finally judge me. In an ideal world I would have told you all of this, the team would know have helped me. I know, without a doubt, that you all would have done everything humanly possible to protect me from whatever I must face. And it is that same loyalty that has driven me to take this action.

Tonight I met with Doyle; he made it clear what was to come. He had been watching me for a while, I knew, as I had had text, phone calls and gifts from him. From the first phone call I started to distance myself from the team. Not because I didn't trust you, or I was too proud to ask for your help; but because I wouldn't risk you. It didn't work; he tracked down each of you and let me know, he knew, where to find each of you. He told me that if I kept you out of it then he would leave you all alone.

I made that deal with the devil, I took his word. If it kept you, my family, safe then it would be worth it. As I know you would vow to protect me, so I vowed to protect you. My actions caused this, my actions must solve it.

Hotch I ask only one thing of you, I know I can't stop you looking for me or hunting down Doyle. Hopefully neither will be necessary. I wish I could make you, as it would ensure the teams safety. But instead, please share this with the team, try and help them to understand.

I am sure you will find support in David; I believe he will find in himself to forgive me, as I believe he will be the first to understand my actions. Please take strength from him, talk to him, as I know he will help you face the team. I have always found David very supportive, as I'm sure you know, as you are both good friends. He has the most amazing way of talking you through things, helping you to understand yourself. If I am right, can you please thank him for me, as I may not be able to?

I ask that you look out for Reid, he will not understand, to him I will just be another person who has abandoned him. I wish I could make him understand that this isn't the case; I would never leave him without an explanation, unless there was no other option. I am doing this to protect the very family that he finds support in, without this the whole family could fail to exsist. I thank him for this support, friendship and challenge. I am sorry if I have teased you, it was never meant to be anything other then shared fun.

Morgan, well if you can get past the barriers he puts up, then I will be impressed. He will be angry with me, mainly because he has tried so hard to reach out to me and I pushed him back. I appreciated every attempt and came so close to telling him. Instead I drew strength from his support and concern, making me more determined to do the right thing. Under that tough surface I know he will be suffering, unable to get his head round what I have done. On top of that he will feel he has failed to protect me. Derek has been an amazing partner, and a great friend, but this time he cannot stand in harms way.

Garcia, what can I say, she'll be furious, she'll be hurting and she will take a long time to recover. She has been like a sister to me, always able to make me smile, even on the darkest of days. I have betrayed her trust, split her precious family, for that I know she will not forgive me.

Seaver, so young and new to it all. Don't let my experience put her off, instead support her so she can learn from it. I was once the young determined agent out to prove myself, thinking I was was invincable. Look where it has led me. If this is the life she truly wants, and I not sure she does. Then tell her to tred carefully, if she decides to follow a different path, then now is the time to do so, before she becomes jaded and loses the enthuiasm for life.

I now JJ has left us, but I want to thank her for accepting me and helping me to become part of the family. She is the only person I have come close to saying goodbye to, as she left, and that was done knowing we would see each other again.

Lastly, Hotch, take care of yourself. You have been an inspirational Unit Chief. I have appreciated the chance you gave me; I hope I have done you proud. Do not doubt yourself; there is nothing you could have done to stop me taking this path. I hope you don't feel I have let you down, I know you didn't want me on the team originally but I would like to think that is no longer the case, and that you may accept me back one day.

Doyle told me a quote from Honore de Balzac:

"Most people of action are inclined to fatalism and most people of thought believe in providence."

I hope I have found a balance.

Sorry

Em

. . .

If all my friends were to jump off a bridge, I wouldn't jump with them, I'd be at the bottom to catch them.

**Anon**

. . .

**I have to admit I cried when I worte this and have struggled with editing it, so please excuse any mistakes I have missed.**


	18. Lauren

**Series 6 One-shots – Lauren**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Prompt: **

**Reid: **I didn't get a chance to say goodbye.

. . . . .

Reid sat in silence at his desk, in his home office. Somehow he always found comfort in this room. He didn't know if it was the safety of the shelves of books, he knew off by heart, or the treasured box of his mother's letters, maybe the aged smell in his otherwise new apartment, but something always wrapped him up and gave him a hug.

But not tonight!

Tonight he felt numb.

The team had just returned from Boston. The flight back had been silent, other than the odd sob, sigh or other vocalised sign of the grief the team shared. No-one on the team seemed to be able to fully comprehend; Emily Prentiss was dead. If they did, then they couldn't show their understanding in a recognisable way.

Morgan had insisted on going home with Penelope;

"There is no way you're home alone, Baby Girl," he'd growled as they landed, but Spencer secretly suspected he needed her as much as she needed him.

JJ and Hotch hadn't left each other's side since the hospital, and walked off whispering, he assumed they were discussing protocol and arrangements.

Rossi had taken Seaver under his wing, the young probationer visibly shaken by the loss of her mentor.

That left Reid, alone. A fate he had accepted without argument.

However now he wished he'd protested, wished he'd tagged along with someone, anyone. Though the flip side of the coin was he wouldn't have to face the patronising babying by the others. Emily was the other one that never treated him that way, and now she was gone, without so much as a goodbye.

Tugging at the draws of his desk, Spencer pulled out a note pad. He grabbed a pen from the pot on his desk. He did the only thing he knew to do when dealing with his own emotions. He wrote. Not his normal out pouring to his Mom; that would come when he was calmer, more lucid. No this was a letter that would never be read, not by human eyes.

As he put pen to paper, he allowed his thoughts to flow, letting them have the release they needed. He wrote to Emily from his heart. Telling her how he felt about her walking away, leaving the team to pick up the pieces. He stated that he knew why she had done what she did, but that he couldn't understand that let alone forgive it. Spencer explained how angry he was at her deserting them and turning her back on her family, even if it meant she was protecting them from Doyle; but most importantly how he regretted not being able to say goodbye, because no matter what she was still his friend.

Putting his pen down, he run his hands through his ruffled hair, sighing deeply he yanked the sheet off the pad and screwed it up in a ball, throwing it viciously towards the wall.

Picking his pen up, he tried again, and again, and again.

Finally, in the early hours of the following day, he sat back in his chair, reading all that he had scrawled across the page. He was finally satisfied that he had been able to come close to expressing how he felt. Folding the paper with care, he put it in an envelope and simple addressed it to Emily. Lying in on the centre of the desk, he stood, avoiding the balled up previous attempts, he headed for his bedroom.

Collapsing, he slept.

. . . . .

A few days later JJ stood alongside Hotch as he explained the format for Emily's funeral to the team.

Spencer couldn't look up. He found a spot and focused on it, hearing, but not comprehending the words that were being said. He could hear Garcia's sobs and snuffles, each time Hotch said the word Emily, but even then it didn't seem real. Spencer held vainly onto the idea that she'd walk back into the bullpen, just as she had walked out; without saying a word.

"Any questions?" Hotch asked, indicating to all he had finished.

Silence filled the conference room.

Spencer's mind raced; he had a hundred and one questions, but only Emily could truly answer them; which meant they now became more of life's mysteries.

As no-one spoke, Hotch turned to leave, Rossi was quick to follow. Everyone else sat in stunned silence. JJ watched her former colleagues, wishing she could put them out of their misery. Slowly, one by one, the team left the room, until only Spencer and JJ were left.

"You OK?" JJ asked as she perched on the edge of the table by Spencer, knowing it was a daft question, but what else could she say.

Spencer shrugged, failing to meet her gaze.

JJ leant forward, resting a reassuring hand on his upper arm.

"You know there was nothing else we could have done, don't you?"

He nodded, staring at the same spot.

"Do you want to talk?" JJ asked softly.

"I can't believe it has happened. That Emily has gone. One minute she was here with us and then nothing. No goodbye, not a word. She just left us."

JJ pulled him into a hug, not knowing how to take the hurt away. After a while she felt him pull away, and she released him.

"There is something you can do for me," he said, as he looked at her.

"You know I will do anything I can to help, Spence."

He grabbed his messenger bag and scrambled around in it for a moment. Eventually he pulled out a white envelope.

"Can you give this to Emily for me?"

JJ heart missed a beat, as she tried to hide the shock from her face, _had he figured them out? Did Spencer know she was alive?_

"Sorry," she finally stuttered.

"Emily is having a closed casket, and I need to say goodbye, this is the only way I know to do it. Can you ask for it to go with her?"

JJ swallowed hard, taking his hands in hers, a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Of course I will."

. . . . .

JJ walked purposely towards the raven haired woman sitting outside the Parisian Cafe. As she did so the older woman put down the paper and looked up. They shared a look, but said nothing, as JJ sat down.

Quickly JJ removed a large brown envelope from her bag and passed it over. When she had finished explaining its contents, she wished the woman 'good luck', and then watched as she left.

. . . . .

Back in the apartment she currently called home Emily opened the envelope, flicking through the passports to see who she would become. In among the documents she noticed another smaller white envelope, instantly she recognised the handwriting: Dr Spencer Reid. Picking it out from the rest of the envelope's contents, she stared. _Had he found out? _JJ had told her only she and Hotch knew, and that was two too many.

Eventually she opened the letter. Nothing could prepare her for what she was about to read.

Emily hadn't made the choice to leave lightly; it had been the only option. Of course she had considered the impact on the team, but it was better they hurt then be hurt.

Sitting alone, she read Spencer's words. She couldn't change anything; she could only pray that one day she would have the chance to explain and thank them for their friendship.

. . . . .

"A Friend is someone who knows all about you and loves you anyway!"

**Anon**

. . . . .

**This didn't end up anything like I originally planned. It was going to be another letter, but instead I wrote about what happened to the letter. I hope you like, personally I'm unsure, but I just couldn't get the letter to flow.**


	19. With Friends Like These

**Series 6 One-shots – With Friends Likes These**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I was going to use the whole scene as the prompt for this, but decided it was too much to put at the start of this one-shot so I have just used Morgan's comment from the end of the conversation, but really the whole scene brought this one-shot to life. I thought it was a beautiful moment that truly showed the depth of their friendship.**

**Prompt:**

**Morgan**: The moment you are wandering around the streets aimlessly, that's when I'll be concerned about you. Come on, Pretty Boy, let's get to work.

. . .

The flight home had been quiet. Morgan had wanted to talk to Reid, see if he was feeling a bit more settled. Morgan was more than aware that Reid had reached the age when Schizophrenic breaks happened, and he knew how long Reid had worried he may end up the same as his Mom.

Morgan knew he was not the shining example of talking to others when something was bothering him, _but, hell, who on the team was?_ However, he didn't like the idea of Reid bottling this up either. _Look what had happened to Emily, because she couldn't share her problems!_

He wasn't suggesting that this could all lead to a para-socio-psychopath hunting Reid down, but it could lead to mistakes if he wasn't able to focus, and losing one team member was more than enough already.

Morgan was glad Reid had spoken to someone, before this week. It was just a shame it was Emily, as she wasn't here to help him now. Consciously Morgan breathed deeply, to quell the anger rising in him, as he thought about how she could walk away and leave Reid when he needed her.

Closing his eyes, Morgan gained control of his emotions once more. This wasn't a time to think about Emily, he needed to think about how he could help Reid. Morgan had followed Reid because he knew something was bothering him, he didn't assume he would talk to him, but he was glad he did. Now the trick was to keep him talking.

The flight was too quiet. It would wait. For now Morgan made do with watching the younger profiler. Reid had done what he does best on flights home. He was stretched out on the bench seat, convincingly pretending to sleep.

Morgan couldn't help but wonder if he had another of the headaches, Reid had mentioned. If he had it may be more comfortable to lay down, with his eyes shut, then sit. Whatever the reason he looked peaceful, for the time being.

. . .

By the time the flight got in it was decided everyone would head straight home. Garcia had already left Quantico, the rest of the team were quick to follow.

"Hey kid, how bout I give you a lift?" Morgan called to Reid, who was already scurrying off.

Reid paused, turning and looking suspiciously at Morgan.

"I'm really tired," he managed.

"Then a lift will get you home quicker, come on, don't argue," Morgan said casually, indicating towards his SUV.

Reid's shoulders slumped in defeat, as he followed Morgan towards the vehicle. Getting in beside the older agent Reid fumbled with the belt. Silently Morgan watched him struggle; he noticed the tremble in his fingers as he tried hard to insert the buckle. Gently he reached over and did it for him. Nothing was said, it wasn't necessary.

They hadn't been on the road long when Reid spoke.

It was so quiet that Morgan failed to catch what he said.

"Sorry?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it," Reid repeated.

"Ok, I respect that," Morgan guessed his actions had been pretty transparent, "but if you change your mind, no matter what time of day, or night, you know where I am."

Reid nodded, and then appeared to wince at the action.

It was then that Morgan noticed he seemed to be shielding his eyes from the street lights with his hand.

The rest of the journey was taken in silence, except the ever increasing tap of Reid's left foot.

. . .

Morgan got out the car and went round to help Reid out.

"I'm fine," he muttered as Morgan opened the door.

"Yeah, you look it." Morgan growled, wishing Reid would accept his help.

As Reid got out he stumbled slightly. Morgan put out his hand for support.

"That's it Reid, I'm seeing you up to your apartment, like it or not."

Reid hadn't the energy or inclination to argue.

. . .

Morgan led Reid through his apartment, straight to his bedroom. Helping him lay down on the bed, Morgan asked:

"Can I get you anything?"

Reid managed a slight shake of his head, before curling up in a ball.

Undeterred Morgan headed back towards the kitchen. He fetched water and put it beside the bed for Reid, who was now fast asleep.

After he had been down and got their go bags. Morgan settled on the couch, making himself comfortable. There was no way he was leaving Reid alone like this. Morgan had no idea the 'terrible headaches' were this bad.

. . .

Morgan woke suddenly, unsure of the noise he had heard. His body ached as he sat upright, gaining his bearings as he remembered bedding down on Reid's couch. He got up and headed towards the source of the sound.

In the kitchen he found Reid, now waiting silently for his pot of coffee.

"You OK?"

Reid physically jumped. He had been unaware of Morgan in his apartment.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Slept on the couch," Morgan gave by way of an explanation.

Reid looked confused at his colleague's response.

"Look kid, you really worried me last night. I had no idea things were this bad," Morgan paused long enough to get a second mug out for Reid to pour him a coffee too, "Maybe you need to go back to the doctors, you shouldn't be like this. There has to be an explanation for these headaches."

"They think it's psychosomatic," Reid mumbled, as if ashamed to admit it.

Now Morgan got it. As ifvReid hadn't feared this stage of his life enough, now the doctors were fuelling his fears. There was probably a reasonable explanation for this.

"Psychosomatic covers a lot of bases, it could purely be stress or anxiety," Morgan started to try and reason with Reid, and himself at the same time, "I know you are worried about the future after all your Mom has gone through, but this job isn't exactly a walk in the park, plus losing Prentiss. It's taking its toll on us all."

Reid looked up at Morgan, his eyes dull and even after sleeping, the shadows of many restless nights were evident under his eyes.

"But what if . . ."

Reid didn't finish the sentence, he couldn't. Schizophrenia was like all of his worst nightmares rolled into one. He had seen it devastate his mother's life and wasn't willing to let the same happen to him.

Morgan hadn't got an answer. He knew it was possible, but also that no-one could predict that. Stepping closer to Reid, he pulled him close.

"Whatever it is, we face it together."

. . .

We don't have a magic bullet for the treatment of schizophrenia and clinicians are struggling every day to find a medication that will work for individual patients.

**Leslie Citrome****, Professor**

**. . .**

**I kept to Reid and Morgan in this instead of Spencer and Derek, as although it was a relationship one-shot, they rarely seem to use first names with each other on the show. Hope this is in character as I love their brotherly relationship and how it's portrayed on the show.**


	20. Hanley Water

**Series 6 One-shots – Hanley Water**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**OK so choosing prompt for this was tough as I think there are two very poignant moments. The one I haven't picked is when Hotch is talking down the UnSub (Shelly) and talks about how not making it in time effects those involved. The look on Rossi, Morgan and Reid's faces as he says it really got to me.**

**Anyway, here is the prompt I choose in the end.**

**Prompt:**

**Morgan:** You know, we come in here and we talk to you, where do you go? Where are you with all of this?

**Hotch:** Same place as you, wishing she was here.

. . .

Hotch swallowed hard, letting the amber liquor burn his throat, as he stared at the phone. Sitting, in silence, at home, he couldn't help but contemplate Morgan's words. Morgan had been right to ask who Hotch was to go to. Luckily he had been able to avoid that part of Morgan's questions, but for how much longer?

_How long could he continue to support and protect his team, while he lied to them? _

Just because he knew the truth, didn't mean he didn't have issues with it. Hotch wasn't facing dealing with the grief of Emily's death, but he was learning to cope with losing her. He had all of this, with the additional worry of holding his team together; while deceiving the very trust that was the foundation of his elite unit.

He looked down at the pages of notes in front of him, the basis of the analysis of the team that Strauss had requested.

He picked each up in turn.

Penelope Garcia, he smiled just thinking of the team's ray of sunshine, then frowned as he realised how the recent events had eclipsed her solar personality. The perma-cheerful tech was buried in the depths of denial and was making no attempt to get out. Penelope wanted to protect herself by living in the past, like nothing had happened. She wanted to hold her memories of Emily dear and true and was denying all knowledge of anything else.

Hotch was confident he had moved on from that, his denial was short lived. It was unproductive and he hadn't had time to waste. If he was to continue Emily's hard work, and keep the team safe, he had to move on quickly.

Next in the pile was Morgan, the epitome of anger. Right now it was seeping out of every pore; anger with himself, with Emily and with Doyle. Morgan wanted to believe that sixty seconds would have been enough to make a difference. Hotch wasn't so certain.

Yes, Hotch was angry that the whole situation had happened. Angry that he hadn't realised Emily was in trouble, angry that she hadn't spoken to anyone and angry with Doyle for hurting her and attacking his team. However he taken that route before, 'if onlys'. If only he'd got to Haley quicker, if only he had spoken to Emily when she started to act strangely, 'if only' was only good for one thing, taking the next step.

Bargaining. He picked up his notes on Dr Spencer Reid. Reid had hit that stage, by the deep, dark shadows under the young agents eyes, Hotch imagined he spent most the night bargaining his way through the thought process of dealing with what had happened. He knew Reid would wish it was him, instead of her, that he would swap places without being asked.

So would Hotch. He would do anything for it to be him in her place, to take the pain and the solitude for her. He could definitely identify with this stage. Yet he wasn't here. He had moved on, knowing that he couldn't change what had happened.

The next sheet in the pile belonged to Ashley Seaver. He sighed, realising the impact this had had on the probationary agent. Picturing her sad expression as she struggled to explain how she felt about it all. Losing a team mate was hard, but your mentor, that would stay with her for life. It was early days, but already Hotch was questioning how long she would last.

Hotch was not depressed, because the hope of seeing Emily again, one day, kept that at bay. Though the thought of how he told the team of his lies may be enough to change his mood to a more depressive tone.

So finally he reached acceptance, as did his friend and colleague David Rossi. From the point that they had discovered Emily had left David had this calm acceptance of the situation. He was the reasoning force in the team. Rossi, the lone wolf, understood Emily's motives and was there to help explain it to everyone else. Yes he had been edgy, lost his cool in desperation, but soon he had his emotions under control.

Hotch had reached acceptance of the situation. Acceptance didn't mean he was happy with the situation. It didn't mean he understood the journey to this destination. It didn't mean he wouldn't do everything in his power to change it. But right now, as needs must, he accepted.

Taking another gulp he drained the glass in his hand. Dropping the sheets, they scattered across the table. He couldn't face writing the formal reports tonight. They could wait until tomorrow. Right now he needed to talk, to take the rare step of sharing how he felt, because if he didn't the cracks would begin to show in his normally stoic nature.

Rising slowly he poured another drink. Collecting the phone as he made his way to the couch, he was quick to punch the necessary numbers in.

Sipping his drink as he listened to it ring, he waiting to hear the voice of the only person he could talk to right now.

"Hi," came the familiar, but slightly dulled voice of his former colleague.

"JJ, I need to talk."

"Sure, shall I come over?"

"Please," he answered, before putting the phone down.

Hotch didn't know if she had the answers he required, but at least she understood. JJ knew the weight of the burden they carried.

. . . .

Do not stand by my grave and cry.  
>I am not there, I did not die.<p>

**Mary Elizabeth Frye****, Poet**

**. . . .**

**Sorry it wasn't very long (think this is the shortest chapter). I considered including the conversation with JJ but thought it would be repetitive so left knowing that he had support when he needed it.**


	21. The Stranger

**Series 6 One-shots – The Stranger**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas**

**This was one of two moments I considered from this episode. The one-shot is set prior to the conversation with Hotch. Hope you like it.**

**Prompt:**

**Strauss:** I'm just dealing with a few things right now.

**Hotch:** What is it?

**Strauss:** I might have to be away for a few months. I'm not asking you to step away from your duties but I might need you to supervise some departments.

**Hotch:** Whatever you need, of course.

. . . .

Strauss sat straight backed. Her immaculate navy dress crease free from the exact same position she had sat in for the past twenty minutes. Erin didn't tolerate tardiness. Her patience was wearing thin. She shot the Receptionist a look, the kind of look that usually put the fear of God into whoever it was aimed at.

Not this time, the Receptionist replied to the glare with a sickly sweet smile, before returning to the paperwork in front of her. She had seen woman like Strauss before, afraid of no-one or anything. That was until they faced what she was facing today. How the mighty fall she thought, silently praying for good news for the stern woman. After all no-one deserved what she was to face, if the news was bad.

Realising her actions hadn't worked; Strauss stood and made her way to the desk.

The Receptionist looked up, the same smile plastered on her face, yet her eyes didn't smile.

"Would it be possible to know how much longer I am going to have to wait?" Erin's clipped tone seemed to echo in the silent waiting area.

"I'm sorry, I appreciate you want an answer but Dr Anna does like to give each person the time they need, as I am sure you are aware no one knows how they will react . . ."

Her words were cut off.

"Then maybe she should take into account when making appointments. I am very busy and do not have the time to waste sitting here."

"I'm sorry," was all the poor woman could manage, under the intense stare of Erin Strauss.

Erin turned and made her way back to her seat, flattening her dress as she sat and waited. It wasn't so much the 'what she could be doing instead of being here' that mattered. It was that sitting in silence made her think; and thinking was something she was avoiding at all costs.

Staring out of the nearby window, her mind once again begun to wander, ever since she had found the lump she had tried hard not to think of what it could mean. She wasn't worried for herself, she had long ago learnt to smother her emotions and get on with things. No she worried for her family and the impact it would have on them. Or worse, that it may have no impact at all.

Henry, her long suffering husband, he had been a top lawyer until he took early retirement. Now he busied himself with rounds of golf and museum trips. Filling his days with all the things he had wanted to do but never had the time. Erin was jealous of his carefree lifestyle, but was aware that she had made her choice and would see it through to the end.

Some nights, as she lay there beside him, listening to him snore softly; she couldn't help but ask herself if he still loved her, or if she had pushed him away once too often. She had frequently asked herself the same thing.

At times their lives had seemed so distinct they may well have been separated. Yet Henry wouldn't hear of it, even after the affair, he took her back. She could still picture the hurt look on his face and hear the cruel words that she spoke, as he selflessly offered to forgive her. God she could be a bitch when she wanted.

Then there were the children. David, the eldest, he was no mommy's boy, probably because he never saw his Mom as he was growing up. First he had the Nanny and then boarding school, as soon as possible. But it's done him good. He's bright and already set up in the partnership of a law firm. His success is enough to rival his father's already. He has a beautiful fiancé, who will make an amazing trophy wife for all the functions he is sure to attend. The girl oozes class and sophistication, just not a strong enough character for Erin's liking.

Unlike her Dana, chip off the old block that one. Since finishing university she has taken the media world by storm. She was already a head of department and being interviewed for Deputy Editor next week. Both Erin and Dana had every confidence she would succeed. Mainly because Dana succeeded at everything she put her mind too, she was her mother's daughter after all. In more ways than one Erin thought, smiling drily as she considered her latest Italian boyfriend.

Then there was sweet little Alice, _where oh where did she come from?_ Alice didn't have the drive and application of her elder siblings. She was bright enough, but just had no wish to do anything with it, well not anything useful. Alice had never returned from her voluntary service work out in Kenya. Erin physically cringed as she thought of the conditions her daughter chose to live in, in some vain attempt to make a difference. She had considered going out and dragging her back, they had even threatened to cut her funding, in the hope she would return. But there lay the problem, the one trait she had inherited from her mother; pure down-right stubbornness.

_Would any of them miss her? Would any of them rush to her side?_ The children had never wanted for anything, they asked they got it. All except one thing, their mother's attention. So how could expect their attention now, when she had failed to meet their needs.

Of course at present none of them knew. What was the point; it could all be a waste of time. She could be fine. So rather than test those tenuous bonds Erin decided to do what she does best, keep herself to herself and deal with it alone.

"Erin Strauss."

Erin looked up and the overtly cheerful Receptionist. Standing she straightened her dress and flattened her hair. She fixed the emotionless look onto her face and work purposely towards the desk.

"Dr Anna is ready to see you now," the Receptionist grimaced, "I would like to apologise again for the delay."

Erin nodded an acknowledgement and turned towards the door. Her step faltered as she entered the consultations room.

How the mighty fall, thought the Receptionist, before returning to her computer screen.

. . . .

My cancer scare changed my life. I'm grateful for every new, healthy day I have. It has helped me prioritize my life.

**Olivia Newton-John**

**. . . .**

**I think this storyline could lead to a few changes next season, which is kind of why I focussed on it. Also I think it kind of opened up a different side of Strauss (who knows there may be a human in there after all).**

**On a completely different note; I have a poll on my profile until the end of the month. I have the prompt of the Aerosmith song 'Love in an Elevator' but not sure what pairing to use, please vote for what you would like me to write – just a bit of fun after all this heavy stuff.**


	22. Out of the Light

**Series 6 One-shots – Out of the Light**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas**

**This is just a bit of fun in what has been a heavy series. I thought this scene was one of a few great little insights we had through the series, others include the movie scene in 'Henley Water' and the clips of what they get up to together at the end of 'Coda'.**

**Prompt:**

**Rossi**: I know you're gonna do that coaching thing. So I thought maybe this might help.

**Hotch:** Soccer formations?

**Rossi:** I'm Italian.

**Hotch:** Hmm, you've been holding out on me. I ur I could use an assistant.

**Rossi:** How early do they start their games?

**Hotch: **Early . . . Thanks.

. . .

Hotch passed one of the cold bottles of beer to Rossi.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," he said, smiling, "I really didn't imagine you would help out."

"Why wouldn't I?" Rossi said, looking a little offended.

Hotch let out a little snort of laughter at his friend's hurt expression.

"Because you're not a family man."

"As I have told you before I'm Italian, we're a soccer nation, plus we're family orientated," Dave said with a smirk.

"Shame no-one told you that when you were married," Hotch added, on his way to the grill.

"Low, Aaron, low, even for you," Rossi drawled at his colleagues jibe.

"So, what gives? Married three times, divorced three times, but a fatherly glint in the eye whenever Jack or Henry are around. What went wrong?" Aaron knew it was not something Dave every really talked about seriously, he preferred to hide behind crude jokes and jests.

"Well a scientist would point at the common dominator – me."

"There are two people in every marriage, you both have to make the effort," Aaron was more than aware of his own short comings in that department.

"Bingo, problem number one. There weren't just two people in my first marriage."

"Oh," Aaron knew the hurt of realising you have been cheated on; he had had his suspicions with Haley before they separated.

"Are you really surprised?" Dave levelled his eyes on Aaron as he returned to his seat.

"Honestly, no," Aaron was more than aware of the Rossi reputation, and having worked with him for more years then he cared to remember, he had witnessed the Rossi charm on more than one occasion.

"There you go, end of marriage number one. She got a good settlement, I felt extremely guilty. Now she has remarried and has two girls and a boy. All ends happily."

"How about number two?" Aaron was sure he vaguely remembered meeting her when he was being mentored by Dave.

Dave sighed; this was not what he had imagined when Aaron had invited him back for a cook out, after the match, as a thank you. Slowly Dave looked up at Jack. He was halfway down the garden, still in his soccer kit, aiming shots at the goal.

"Ah, Anna," he added dreamily, still watching the young child's practice.

That was it, Aaron thought, Anna, he had met her, she had been younger then David, beautiful long dark hair and an amazing laugh. He remembered her now. She wasn't the sort of person you forgot. Anna turned heads, but she wasn't just attractive, she was intelligent and a fierce temper, as he remembered it. She was a true match for David in every way.

"Anna was a surprise; I never imagined she would actually fall for my lines. But she did," Dave smiled, obviously recalling a personal moment.

"But . . ." Aaron added after a pause.

"But she was disappointed," Dave continued, "I couldn't give her what she wanted."

Aaron found that hard to believe. Dave had long been a successful man, he, and anyone who knew him, didn't want for anything. He watched his friend, and followed his gaze. Then it clicked.

"Kids," Aaron thought aloud.

Dave nodded, "We tried it all, nothing. In the end the stress of it all was too much. We began to fight, more than usual. One night in frustration, I told her to go, to find someone else who could give her what she wanted. She did. And here endeth marriage number two. "

Aaron took a deep breath. He didn't know what to say. Looking over his shoulder at Jack, he couldn't imagine life without him. It had been hard enough when Haley and he split, and how little he saw of Jack then. Aaron had hoped for a larger family, but that wasn't to be. But he and Jack were just fine.

"Dare I ask after number three," Aaron asked with some trepidation, "or shall we leave it there?"

Dave looked up, they'd come this far – why not? And it actually felt quite good talking about it after all these years.

"Number three was wrong from the start. I married Mary for all the wrong reasons. I only dated her to make someone else jealous. You would have thought by the time you reached forty the games would have finished, but obviously not in the world of David Rossi. The less of a reaction I got, the further I went to get one. In the end I work up one morning realising, in an hour or two, I was about to marry a woman I didn't love. What was I supposed to do?"

Aaron thought for a moment, praying it was a rhetorical question as he didn't want to answer.

"I did the honourable thing. I married Mary, everything was OK. But I'm not an OK sort of guy. The marriage didn't last long. In the end I don't know which would have been worse, never marrying her, or letting her down in the end."

Dave's eyes dropped, he was ashamed of his actions.

"What about the one that got away? Any chance of number four?"

Dave snorted, as he drained his beer. The one that got away – he wasn't going to admit to Aaron that she hadn't got that far. In fact he saw her more now that he had at the time of marrying Mary. The only difference was now he was a little more jaded and she wasn't one to forgive. Now they spent their time snipping and niggling each other at every opportunity.

"The one that got away," Dave said bitterly, "More like a lucky escape."

. . . .

All marriages are happy. It's the living together afterward that causes all the trouble.  
><strong>Raymond Hull<strong>**, play write**

**. . . **

**Only 2 chapters left. More soon I promise.**

**I have a poll running on my profile. I have the prompt of the Aerosmith song 'Love in an Elevator' but which pairing should I write? Please vote.**


	23. Big Sea

**Series 6 One-shots – Big Sea**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas**

**So this is it the penultimate chapter. What a ride – now I've got to work out what I do while waiting for Series 7. I'm sure I'll think of something.**

**Prompt:**

**Auntie: **Did you find her?

**Morgan:** No Auntie.

**Auntie:** I'm never going to know, am I?

**Morgan:** He picked out her picture.

**Auntie:** He did (starts crying) Thank you.

. . . . . . .

As Derek stood watching the soft ripple of the waves, as the tide went out, his shoulders slumped slightly. _How could something so beautiful hide such a horrid secret? For all those they had found, how many more had managed to go unnoticed? How many more secrets were hidden in the depths?_

Derek was struggling to draw a line under this one. It had hit a lot closer to home then he had ever imagined on the flight out. Yet it hadn't ended in a manner that helped anyone move forward. Well not until he had done the unthinkable. He'd lied.

He hated lies, of any sort. Lies breed distrust, and that was a road he had walked once too often. It was not one he wanted to lead straight into the heart of his family. Yet it was what he had done less than an hour ago.

His stare didn't waver as the sun begun to dip across the bay. The blue of the sea deepening as the sun set, crimson ripples on the edge of each wave. Yet there he stood, as if wishing the water would wash it all away.

As the sky darkened, the team of police completed their task of packing away the makeshift workspace that had been built on the shore. Now Derek was alone.

He sighed as he tried to wrestle with his conscious. It was too late to change what had been said, but he could at least find his own peace in what he had done.

"Penny for them," came the familiar flat tone of David Rossi.

"Not right now," Derek growled back, a warning that he was in no mood for company.

Obviously not a hint that Rossi was willing to accept as he stood alongside his younger colleague, enjoying the silence as night encroached on them, turning the water an inky shade of navy.

Together they watched as the sliver of a moon took its place in the cloudless sky, still without another word.

"You know you did the right thing, right?" David finally said.

"Yeah, then why do I feel like shit?" Derek spat back.

"Because although you wanted to stop your Aunt hurting, lying goes against every ethic you hold."

"Great, that makes me feel better," Derek muttered, wishing David would get lost and leave him alone.

"No-one said I was here to make you feel better," David added, "In fact I was just sent to find you, Hotch was concerned where you had gone. Also you Aunt wanted to say goodbye before we have to leave."

"Oh," and there was Derek thinking it was a rare moment of sincere concern.

It was, but as always David had to hide it behind a pinch of sarcasm or a hint of jest.

In many ways Derek and David shared the same traits, it was what they liked, and disliked, about each other. They reflected their own faults and strengths. This lead to their fair share of frank discussion and disagreements, but also a silent bond that few would be able to break, often a look spoke a thousand words; but tonight called for real words.

"But if it makes you feel better, it was a good call. I would have done the same thing. Your Aunt needed peace, she needed an answer. Now she can rest, stop looking and come to terms with her loss. You have given her that peace."

"But I lied Dave, Cindy wasn't at the bottom of the sea, he didn't kill her. Now I have convinced the family to stop looking for her. She could be anywhere out there, waiting for us to find her, and I have just ended the search."

"No you haven't," David answered.

"How you figure that?"

"Because you will never stop looking," Dave continued, "You may have given your Aunt peace, but you will never rest. Not until you have an answer."

Derek sighed again, his head dropping for the first time from the star studded scene in front of him.

"And if I ever find that answer? Then what?"

"You tell your family the truth," David summarised.

Derek snorted, anger welling inside, "Just like that; 'Hi Auntie, guess what I lied, but it's OK coz now I've found Cindy.' So simple, huh?"

"Derek, you told your Aunt that Wells picked out a picture of Cindy, nothing more. He did, that was not a lie. You never told her there was any hard evidence of Cindy. If she ever turns up then Wells lied to you, which he did. Derek, don't let the 'what ifs' eat you, we can cross each bridge as it comes."

Derek looked out to sea, God how he wished he had found her; that he knew where she was. His Aunt wasn't the only one who heart missed a beat each time a victim fitted the description of Cindy. He wanted so bad to find her, to bring her home safe. However as the years passed, he just wanted to bring her home, regardless. Put everyone's mind at rest. It what he did for others, but he couldn't manage it for his own family. After all he was responsible for sending her away, he should bring her home.

David reached up, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"When you're ready, you know where we are."

David turned and walked away, leaving Derek alone once more.

. . . . . . . .

Minor white lies permeate our daily lives, especially when we feel the need to protect someone else's feelings.

**Mitch Thrower****, Author**

**. . . . . . . **

"**Penny for them," came the familiar tone of David Rossi. – sorry I thought afterwards I'm not sure if this is a phrase you would all recognise. It's from 'A penny for your thoughts', if anyone can think of a more international phrase I am willing to substitute.**

**I have a poll running on my profile. I have the prompt of the Aerosmith song 'Love in an Elevator' but which pairing should I write? Please vote.**


	24. Supply and Demand

**Series 6 One-Shots – Supply and Demand**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

**So we have made it, as promised one for each episode. Can't believe I've managed it. This one may have a few spoilers I've picked up from online for Series 7 so be warned. Also a few predictions of my own (CBS are you listening?). These are in no particular order and are not set straight over the episodes, but over the months we miss.**

**Thank you for the support and advice I have received, I have really enjoyed writing these and each had really helped with my character focus (well think it has). Thank you too, to those who have voted on my poll, I'm away next week so I will leave it open until the 5****th****. If you haven't voted yet please do.**

**Prompt:**

**Garcia:** We were supposed to talk a...

. . . . .

"Spencer, look at you," Diana shrieked, as he walked into her room, "Do you ever eat anything? I swear you get thinner every time I see you. I should, I could, get you admitted in here with me, the food is good and then I could keep an eye on you."

Reid rolled his eyes, shuffling uncomfortably as his Mom pulled him into a hug.

"Mom, I'm fine. I eat plenty, I'm really into Indian food at the moment, mainly due to a great new restaurant I've found, but the food is amazing."

"I swear I don't know where your adventurous streak came from. It's not me, and it definitely wasn't your father," Diana added as she returned to her seat.

Spencer sat down opposite her. He fidgeted with his hair. He was never sure why visiting his Mom made him so nervous, but it did. Maybe it was because she read him as easily as any of the numerous books in her room, or that he felt uncomfortable knowing he caused her to be cooped up here.

"What's wrong?" Diana said, having watched her son.

Shifting again, Spencer looked up.

"How did you know you were sick?"

Diana moved closer to her son, looking him in the eyes.

"I didn't, I don't, and I still have to be told daily where I am and why. Others notice long before you do. You telling me you're sick?"

"No . . . yes . . . maybe," Spencer muttered, "I keep getting these headaches."

"Have you seen a doctor? I can call one," Diana rose, making her way to the door.

"Mom, stop, sit down," Spencer paused, "The doctors can't find a cause."

Diana had sat down again. She was staring out of the window; slowly she turned to face him and her eyes intent.

"Shhh, you never know who is listening, be careful what you say."

"Mom," but he knew it was too late. In her lucid moments his mother was herself again, but when her illness processed her, Dr Diana Reid was nowhere to be found.

"Nurse," Diana suddenly shouted, "Nurse."

A young nurse came running, "Diana?"

"Get this man out of here, now!"

"But Diana, he's your son."

"My son is in the FBI, does he look like he is in the FBI? He couldn't catch a cold, let alone a criminal. GET HIM OUT!"

"Sorry Dr Reid," the nurse apologised.

"Don't worry, maybe tomorrow will be better, I'll try again."

"Maybe," the nurse smiled sympathetically.

_Or maybe not,_ Spencer thought to himself.

. . . . .

Erin Strauss sat in silence, her husband Henry sat opposite her, speechless.

Neither spoke, as neither knew what to say. Henry had been dealt some tough blows from his wife over the years, but nothing had prepared him for this. Looking up he could see the tears in her eyes. He tried hard to remember the last time he saw her cry; maybe when Alice was born, possibly before then.

"Are you sure?" he murmured.

Erin nodded, "The biopsy results came back today, and Dr Anna rang me and asked me in straight away. It's cancer. She wants to operate and get treatment started straight away."

Slowly Henry got up and poured them both a large scotch. Passing a glass over to his wife, she took it, sipping slowly. It was going to be a long night.

. . . . .

JJ sat at the breakfast table, coffee in hand.

"You sure look pleased with yourself," Will smiled, as he joined her.

JJ returned the smile, "I have something to tell you."

"U –Huh," he nodded, not concentrating on her words, more her bare legs and stiletto heels.

"I'm returning to the BAU," JJ paused hoping it may sink in, "as a profiler."

"Really," Will added, tracing his eyes upwards.

"Did you hear a word I just said, or are you too busy with other things?" JJ commented standing and closing the short distance between them. She bends to give him a kiss as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I heard it all baby, surprise, surprise you have found a way back into the BAU. To be honest, if it means you dress like that more often, you can work where ever you like."

JJ slapped him gently.

"I don't remember needing to ask your permission."

"You don't, and you'd ignore me anyway if I disagreed," he added, kissing her softly.

. . . . .

Sat in the bland room, she ached. The pain may not be as intense as it was, but it was still there; a daily reminder of what she had been through.

Moving slowly Emily made her way to the window. She knew her 'death' was only a temporary solution; giving her time to heal. Physically she was healing, but mentally she struggled daily.

The isolation was debilitating. She had spent her life moving from one place to another, but this was different. Before all of this she had been settled, for the first time in her life she had felt at home, with a family.

But Doyle had taken that all away. Forced her into the corner, taking the only option she could see at the time. And now she was paying the price, and would continue to, long after Doyle was finished.

_Then what?_ Emily sighed. She couldn't exactly return as if nothing had happened. As far as her team, her family, were concerned she was dead.

_How would she ever get them back?_

. . . . .

Seaver slowly placed the lid on the box. That was the last of it. Looking around at the empty bullpen one last time she knew she had made the right decision.

She had seen enough in her short time in the unit to rethink her options. This wasn't the world she wanted to live in. _Live_, exist would be a better description looking at some of her colleagues. No she had made the right choice.

She was sure she vaguely remembered Rossi telling her one of his pearls of wisdom. _What was it?_

'A weak man has doubts before a decision. A strong man has them afterwards' *– well she had no doubts.

. . . . .

Hotch sipped the amber liquid slowly, as he returned to the pile of work on the desk. He didn't know how much longer he could do this. He didn't know how much longer he was supposed to do this.

Covering for Strauss had meant to be a short term solution, but it was dragging on. He had no idea when she would return, if she would return.

Sifting through the paperwork he contemplated once more the possibility of handing the responsibility of the team over to Morgan. He'd stood in before; he was more than capable of running the unit again.

Hotch had every intention of staying with the team, but in the meantime it would reduce his work load and get Morgan back where he belonged.

. . . . .

Morgan got it, he didn't like it, but he got it. He had agreed to the temporary transfer for one reason and one reason only; to stop people asking him. By the time he had finished New York would not want him back again – ever.

He was in foul mood, and being 260 miles away from in 'solace' was not helping. God, he missed her. He missed the whole team, but wasn't likely to admit it to the others. Though the thought of the looks on Hotch and Rossi's faces if he did, almost put a smile on his face.

Leaving the coffee shop, he started down the street towards the office. It was raining, heavy, but he was in no rush. The only thing that concerned him was the number days until he was home again. The countdown had started.

Looking up as he waited to cross the road, he saw her. Just a fleeting glance but he was certain. More sure than he had been about anything in a long time.

"Hey," he called, trying to make himself heard above the traffic, "Hey, wait up."

Dodging the traffic he ran after her. It was her he knew it, _but how could it be? She was dead._

"Hey," he shouted again. "Prentiss, wait, it's me."

The woman stopped and turned. Not long, but long enough.

Long enough for him to be sure; Emily Prentiss was alive and living in New York City.

. . . . .

Kevin opened the box again, and then he flicked it shut again, as he waited nervously at the table. _He should have picked her up, he knew it._

It wasn't as if she was late, well not yet anyway. He had been early, just in case she was early, or in case there was a problem at the restaurant, or, or, or just because he could.

This was his third attempt at proposing and he was determined it would go smoothly this time. The first attempt a case had come up and he had been left sitting at the table, alone, half way through the main course. The second attempt the restaurant had been forced to shut due to an unexplained outbreak of food poisoning. But this time, this time he would get it right.

. . . . .

David Rossi sat back. He had no idea why he had agreed to this. Anna, wife number two, had rung the week before. She was in town and wanted to meet up. He didn't know what it was about her, but even after all these years he couldn't say no.

Sitting in the restaurant opposite her, he tried to let the news sink in.

"You know Anna, one more husband and we'll be on an even score."

"Trust you David to make a joke out of it," she snorted, "I thought you might understand, help me even."

"Come on Anna, this isn't your first divorce, and as I remember it you did really well out of the last one, all by yourself."

"David, you are starting to sound very bitter in your old age," she quipped.

Dave smiled, she always had been a match for him; bold, confident, intelligent, articulate and downright gorgeous. Nothing had changed over the years.

"I don't know what you want Anna. I'm willing to help, if I can, but I need to know how?"

"David its simple, my marriage is over. I have the kids we always wanted, ok they're grown up, but they're still my children. I'm only missing one thing."

"And that is?"

"You!"

. . . . .

Garcia sat at her desk. Her huge array of fluffy pens, brightly coloured characters and flashing screens surrounded her.

This was her life. It was her world and she had created it. Everything in the room told a story, well to her they did anyway.

But what was this room if she didn't have her friends, her family? Then, no matter what she filled it with, it was an empty shell.

They had taken JJ away, she had lost Emily. Penelope Garcia wasn't prepared to have her family broken up any further. She would fight to keep them together, no matter what.

Looking back at the screen she knew she shouldn't do what she was about to do. She knew that if it was traced back to her then she would be in trouble, a lot of trouble. She also knew she was good, too good, and if they found out it was her then she deserved to lose her job.

With a final click it was done. That was all that was needed, a little electronic persuasion to guarantee the future of her favourite team, well for the time being anyway.

. . . . .

What lies in our power to do, lies in our power not to do.

**Aristotle**

**. . . . .**

***the quote is from Carl Kraus and was read at the start of Series 5 episode 1. I realise this was long before Seaver, but felt it was the sort of thing he would actually say.**

**I really couldn't decide how to finish this series so I thought I'd follow the shows lead and leave you with plenty of unanswered questions!**

**Thank you.**


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